Penumbra 13- The Fire of Thine Eyes
by A. Farnese
Summary: Merlin couldn't be happier after Niniane's arrival in Camelot, and everything in the rest of the kingdom is just as idyllic. And then disaster strikes.
1. Chapter 1

_Midsummer's Eve_

It was just before dusk when Morgana returned to Helva. The birds were bedding down for the night, their songs falling into silence one by one, though the singers and minstrels in the town picked up where the birds left off, filling the air with their songs and stories. A pang of regret touched her heart at the sound of one silvery voice, and for a moment she wished she could stop, listen, and forget her cares for a while.

But Morgana had a task to complete, and only a little time in which to do it. She sighed and soldiered on, her hands tight upon the walking stick she leaned on as she took a long, deep breath and did her best to ignore the aches and pains that riddled her prematurely aged body.

Aging spells. They were hardly the best disguise, and certainly not one that she needed here in Helva, a refuge where magic had never been illegal and had always been practiced. Here, a Priestess of the Goddess could walk openly, and she would be given the respect due one of her station.

Tonight, though, she needed the disguise. The appearance of Morgana Pendragon would frighten her quarry away, while an ailing old woman would inspire the girl's compassion and bring her close.

Close enough to capture, cage, and be made to sing a song of Morgana's liking.

Just down the road a little at the edge of an open air market, a crowd had gathered around a pair of musicians- a man and a woman singing a bawdy song about a fussy milkmaid and her much-put-upon shepherd lover. The man held a long, high note that broke off into a loudly whispered aside that made the crowd erupt into peals of laughter. Morgana edged closer. Their ebullience hid her movements as she searched out her agent, one of the remaining sorcerer-warriors left in her service.

Yver must have sensed her gaze upon him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, meeting her eyes, and nodding toward a slender girl at the edge of the crowd. _'Is that her?'_ he seemed to be asking.

Morgana looked up at the girl, at the firelight touching the lines of her sharp features, and how her dark hair flowed in waves to her hips. She certainly looked like the young woman Morgana had Seen, but she had to be sure.

The cracked paving stones underfoot gave Morgana a reason to stumble. She reached out and caught herself on the girl's arm to keep from falling.

"Oh!" The girl cried out and turned, her brows knit and mouth open to berate Morgana before she noticed that it was an old woman who had grabbed her. "I'm sorry, Mistress, did I get in your way? All you all right?"

"Yes, child," Morgana smiled up at her, looking deep into the girl's eyes, green as the midsummer leaves. Yes, this was the girl she was looking for. "I am quite all right. 'Twas nothing more than this road that made me stumble. I'll shuffle on now and let you be. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." She tried to straighten and winced.

"Is it your back that's troubling you? I can help you with that, if you'd like." The girl offered her arm, and Morgana took it. "There's a potion I can blend for you to ease your pains. It'd be no trouble."

"You are a sweet girl, but there's no need." Morgana said. She patted the girl's hand and shifted her weight as though she were about to pull away. "'Tis only the problem of growing old, and there is no remedy for that." A bit of broken stone underfoot lent truth to Morgana's stumble. She might have fallen if it hadn't been for the girl's grip on her arm.

"At least let me see you home, mistress. It's getting dark, and the street's no better on the way up. Please. I'm a healer, you see. An apprentice, at least." The girl smiled sweetly, a flash of firelight catching in her green eyes. "I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't make sure you got home without a problem. Maybe another wouldn't see it that way, but I would." The girl folded Morgana's arm around hers and straightened. "Shall we, then?"

"I'd hate to take you away from your friends. You should be with them, not with an old woman." Morgana patted the girl's hand again. Twice. It was the signal she'd arranged with Yver, and she saw him nod slightly out of the corner of her eye. He disappeared into the shadows to wait. "Don't you have a boy waiting for you? A pretty girl like you should have a sweetheart somewhere. Or a lot of friends, at least. Surely they'd miss you."

The girl laughed, the sound was bright and happy in the evening gloom. "I'm often away all night listening to the singers. There are so many here, and I want to hear them all before I leave Helva." They were away from the firelight and headed up the street almost before Morgana knew it. The girl's stride was quick and sure, but not more than an old woman could keep up with. "As for a sweetheart, well," she looked away, and Morgana could have sworn she blushed, "there is one young man. But he's… he's so far beyond me, that it seems like wishful thinking to imagine that he might come to care for me, or even learn that I exist."

Morgana chuckled as she turned them down an abandoned side road. "Take heart, child. I've seen the strangest things come to pass in my life. Perhaps one day, this young man of yours will think the same thing about you." She stopped in front of a dark little house and let go of the girl's arm. "Thank you, child. You're very kind for helping an old woman reach her doorstep. I wish there were more young people like you about. So helpful."

The girl smiled and took a breath to reply. A gloved hand clamped itself around her mouth, cutting off her words and her scream as another arm pinned her arms close to her body. Her eyes widened as Morgana raised a hand and breathed a word, _"Sweofot." _

Then the fear drained away and her eyes closed. She went limp and Yver swept her up into his arms and carried her into the little house. Morgana followed and closed the door, dismissing the aging spell as quickly as she could.

With her youth returned to her, Morgana stood straight, closed the shutters, and turned to where Yver had put the girl on the long workbench in the middle of the room. "Well done," she said.

Yver inclined his head. "It was a simple enough task, My Lady. She was so trusting."

"Kind-hearted people like her are overly inclined to trust. They think their goodness is a shield against the darkness of the world. I once thought the same, for all the good it did me." Morgana traced a finger along the girl's cheek and tucked a strand of the dark hair behind her ear. It seemed a shame to waste such beauty, but there was nothing for it. There were always sacrifices that had to be made.

"Kindness is only a virtue in fairy stories, My Lady. It is seldom rewarded anywhere else." Yver stepped away from the table to light the candles. Morgana watched him work for a moment. His movements were quick and graceful as he lit the candles with a whisper of magic. She had wanted Accolon at her side for this, but he was away fighting his father's battles, and so she had quiet, graying Yver instead.

"Shall I leave you to your work, My Lady?"

"Stay awhile. Casting the Mark of Yseult is a long, complicated process. I don't want someone to interrupt in the middle of it." Morgana flicked her fingers and a fire burst into life in the hearth. She brought the tray over that she had prepared days earlier. Asphodel, amaranth, cypress, and lobelia. Lovely flowers, combined for a dark purpose, to be blended with water drawn from the Goddess's own well on the Isle of the Blessed, as well as other, stranger items. Ingredients that had taken her weeks to collect.

Then there was most important one of all…

Morgana pulled a long, flat box out of its hiding place in the wall and opened it with a whisper of magic. There were two items inside- a small cloth soaked with old, dried blood and a slender iron blade that was also crusted with blood.

Merlin's blood.

She had taken it from him in the dungeon under Blackheath after she'd captured him, bound his magic, and handed him over to the Sarrum to be burned. Alas, it hadn't been enough to destroy Merlin. He lived- though scarred and blinded- and was still a thorn in her side, foiling her efforts to spy on Arthur and sniffing out her agents, whether they were man, woman, or beast. And as always, Merlin stood between Morgana and her rightful place on the throne of Camelot, along with everything else that should have been hers.

She set the tray down on the table next to the girl, being careful not to knock the vials over or jar any of the crusted blood off the little blade. She arranged everything gingerly, resetting it all so all was ordered just-so in neat rows. Her hands only shook a little as she did so. She took her time.

"My Lady?" Yver said from the shadows.

"What is it?" Morgana said without looking up.

Yver took his time responding. When he finally spoke, his voice was firm but still subservient. "Are you certain this is the best course of action, My Lady?"

Morgana glared up at him through her lashes. "Do you think the Goddess no longer speaks to me? Or do you think that, because I lost my ancestral holdings at Tintagel, that I am weak?"

"No, My lady. Never that. But this is a powerful rite that you are about to perform. Once you set foot upon this path, you cannot step off of it. I only want you to be certain of what you do."

She watched him for a long time, waiting for Yver to flinch away from her gaze, or to stammer an apology and say that a mere warrior should not question the will of a Priestess. But he stood as still and unyielding as an old oak tree. A younger man would have wilted, but Yver was not a young man. His gray hairs and scars spoke of a wanderer's life, and as one of the survivors of the fall of Tintagel, she supposed he had the right to ask a question or two.

Perhaps he sensed the tiny worm of doubt niggling in her heart.

Morgana clenched her jaw. "Tomorrow, a serving girl- _my _serving girl- will marry Arthur and be crowned Queen of Camelot. She will sit upon my throne and wear my crown. The knights will swear fealty to her when they should be giving their loyalty to me. And with Merlin standing in my way, I cannot stop it from happening. And Merlin…" she let out a bitter laugh. "Arthur used to listen to my council and follow the paths I laid out for him. Then Merlin came along and replaced me in Arthur's eyes. When my magic made itself known, Merlin could have helped me. But he stood by and let me believe that I was alone. He has been in my way for years, foiling all my plans, preventing me from taking my rightful place on the throne, helping to take away everything I held dear." Morgana took a deep breath to calm herself. "Magic is legal again. Merlin is loved by those around him, with a place at Arthur's side and in his household. He has everything now, and I am reduced to _this_." She gestured around the ramshackle little house.

Yver nodded, pondering her words. He was silent for a while, then drew in a raspy breath. "I don't pretend that I have a right to challenge your actions, My Lady, but what comes after this? If Merlin is destroyed, will you attempt to reclaim the throne?"

"Of course I will. Do you think I fear Arthur or his knights?"

"No, My Lady. You seem to fear nothing at all, But I..." Yver shook his head gave her a weary smile, "I am not a young man. My sons may lust after the thrill of battle, but my heart yearns for a land of my own and four walls to protect me from the storm. I have been a wanderer for too long, My Lady. When a man sees his end drawing near, he wants a place to call home."

Morgana opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. She looked down and traced the edge of the tray with a fingertip. "Where would you have us go, then? We are not welcome in Camelot, and are merely guests in Rheged. The other lands are still hostile to us, and even my ancestral home of Tintagel is no longer an option. Not while Arthur's lords hold it with an iron grip." She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Would you have us stay here, in Helva? Shall we mingle with the salt of the earth and the minstrels and mummers? Should I declare myself queen of this little village and its dusty folk?"

Yver smirked, then his expression softened. "There is a place we could go, My Lady. A land where magic once thrived, and sorcerers lived in harmony with priests and priestesses of all the gods."

"And where is this mythical place?"

"It is not so mythical as all that. You have been there yourself, though I admit that the Isle of the Blessed is not so glorious as it once was. In my youth, it was a place of light and beauty, where some of the greatest minds in the Five Kingdoms gathered to teach and learn. It could be like that again."

It was tempting. There was a little piece of Morgana's heart that longed for a place to call her own. She was only in her second year of exile, and already she had grown tired of always moving, never having a place to simply stop and rest for longer than a few weeks. Maybe….

Maybe when her visions stopped pushing her down this path or that, and the Goddess gave her time to pause and pursue her own wishes. She could marry Accolon at last, re-establish the Order of the Goddess, perhaps bear a daughter to carry on her line.

On the Isle of the Blessed.

Morgana pushed those thoughts aside and stared into the face of the sleeping girl. _'She is meant to have that which should have been mine.'_

A priestess should have had a heart made of stone, untouchable by such things as love or jealousy, but this girl was so bright, so young and beautiful, that Morgana felt old and withered in comparison. It wasn't fair. Morgana had spent most of her youth plucking at Uther's sleeve in endless vain attempts to get him to see reason and show mercy. She had dismissed dozens of suitors, dispensed more advice than she cared to think of, and set aside her own desires for the sake of Camelot, only to have her every effort be for nothing. And now this slip of a girl, a barefoot waif from the forest would find a place at the side of the Queen of Camelot.

This girl would win Merlin's love. A love that should have been Morgana's to claim. After all, if Arthur could fall for a servant, why couldn't she do the same?

But that possibility had burned away in the snowy courtyard in Blackheath.

The poisoned flower of jealousy bloomed anew in Morgana's heart. She reached for the silver blade she needed to begin the ritual. "I will think on it, Yver. But go for now. Wait outside and leave me to my work. I likely won't be finished until dawn."

Yver watched her for a while before he nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind himself.

Morgana waited for a while to make sure he wouldn't come back in. Then she turned the sleeping girl's head to one side and brushed the dark hair away from the nape of her neck. The blade's edge had been sharpened to the finest point possible, so it barely hurt when Morgana drew it along the palm of her hand. Bright blood flowed out of the cut. She cupped her hand and traded the blade for a slender brush.

"When this is done," Morgana whispered into the girl's ear, "you will not remember me. But my commands will bury themselves deep into your mind all the way down to your heart, and you'll never know they are there." With her own blood, Morgana began to draw lines on the girl's neck. As the ritual progressed, the design would grow more complicated, binding her to Morgana's will.

"You told me you love a man, though you doubt he knows you exist. When this is over, he will know you as well as his own name. You will give him your heart, and he will give you his." Morgana let her blood run out of her hand and into a little silver dish. When she had enough, she bound the wound with a strip of linen and took up the iron blade that held Merlin's dried blood. She knocked a few, precious pieces of it into the flask that held the water from the Goddess's well.

"The Mark of Yseult is a powerful binding," Morgana said as she worked, though the girl couldn't hear her, "it makes a weapon out of love itself. You will make your way to Camelot and into Merlin's heart. And when he trusts you more than he trusts himself, that is when you will strike. You will not know what you are doing, but in the end, you will kill Merlin."


	2. Chapter 2

_Three Months Later_

"So where, exactly, are we supposed to be meeting up with Iseldir?" Gwaine shaded his eyes against the early morning sun, despite the fact that the trees diffused the light well enough. Lancelot assumed the other man's sensitivity was due to the fact that he'd been deep in his cups until the small hours of the morning, bemoaning the fact that, while Lady Linnet seemed to be warming to Gwaine's charms, she still kept him at arm's length. Lancelot had heard the whole story the night before- twice- after a not entirely sober Gwaine had wandered into Lancelot's chambers and complained of the lady's rejection to his invitation for a nighttime walk through the Queen's Garden.

"I don't know," Merlin called over his shoulder, "but I'll know when we get there." He gave Gwaine a wide grin and returned to the conversation he'd been having with Guinevere at the head of the column.

"Some help you are," Gwaine grumbled.

"Don't worry, Gwaine." Lancelot clapped him hard on the shoulder. A bit of payback for keeping him up half the night. "Merlin's never led us astray before."

Gwaine muttered something unintelligible and wiped a hand over his face and through his hair, completely missing the smirk that the sloe-eyed Lady Linnet gave him before she, too, turned away to pay attention to the queen.

Lancelot chuckled and resisted the urge to head toward the front of the column to ride alongside Merlin and Guinevere. For one thing, it looked as though the two of them were deep in conversation by the way Merlin was gesticulating; and for another, it just wouldn't do for him to be seen riding next to Guinevere while Arthur wasn't there. His love for the queen was hardly a secret, and if he hadn't learned from Merlin's experiences just how damaging rumors could be, then he was an idiot unworthy of the title of 'knight'. It only took one whisper in the wrong ear for an innocent look or phrase to be taken out of context, and with four knights, Merlin, Ladies Elayne and Linnet, and a score of soldiers underfoot, there seemed endless possibilities for misunderstanding to arise.

Not that Lancelot doubted the loyalty of anyone there, but better to be safe than sorry. He would rather it be Gwaine who got the drubbing for being a lovelorn mooncalf. At least no one could fault him for being in love with the wrong woman.

He sighed and turned his attention away from Gwaine, Linnet, and Guinevere, gazing instead at the late summer forest they had been riding through since their slightly delayed departure sometime after dawn. They were riding out to meet the Druid girl that Guinevere- and by extension, Merlin- had invited to court. That much Lancelot knew. How said meeting had been arranged, or where it was supposed to happen was a mystery. Likely it had been accomplished with the aid of Merlin's little owl, among other, more magical means. It was all a mystery to him. Merlin might be able to be open about his magic these days, but it was still baffling to such mundane minds as Lancelot's. He would just have to content himself with finding the answers whenever they arrived.

Especially about the girl. Her name, Niniane, was the only thing that Lancelot and the others had been able to glean from Merlin's minimal answers when they asked about her, though Arthur seemed certain that Merlin was sweet on the girl.

Arthur and Guinevere. Gwaine and Linnet. And now, possibly, Merlin and Niniane. Apparently love was in the air these days. Not that Lancelot begrudged Merlin a moment's happiness. The sorcerer had earned an eternity of joy, after all. He just wished Gwaine would stop grumbling.

They rode on for another hour or so. Gwaine's mood improved as his head cleared and he finally made for some tolerable company, trading barbs with Percival and Elyan that caused the whole company to laugh as the insults grew more and more outlandish, ending with Gwaine's lewd jest about Percival, three chickens, and a wheelbarrow. Perhaps it wasn't the sort of thing that should have been said in proper company, but it wasn't as though they were a collection of folk of high birth. Only Linnet and Elayne were of noble blood, and if Linnet's smirks were any sign, she didn't mind how freely Gwaine spoke. Elayne blushed a charming shade of pink and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smiles.

What Merlin thought of the exchange, Lancelot didn't know. He couldn't even tell if Merlin had heard any of it, as often as the sorcerer's gaze drifted toward the forest and sent his attention wandering along with it. The first few times Lancelot noticed Merlin doing it, his hand ended up on the hilt of his sword. But when Merlin gave no sign of there being any trouble, Lancelot finally relaxed, pried his fingers off the hilt, and went back to laughing with the others.

"We're here," Merlin suddenly called out.

"We're where?" Gwaine pulled his horse up short and looked around, befuddlement plain on his face as he looked around at the rather ordinary bit of forest around them.

"Where Iseldir intends to meet us. Well," Merlin shrugged, "We're almost there. It's actually up that hill." He gestured toward a gentle rise whose way up was through a thick stand of trees, heavy with leaves that shaded the damp, loamy ground beneath them.

"And how do you know know that?" Gwaine asked.

"How do you know the sky is blue?" Merlin grinned. "You open your eyes." He swung out of the saddle without another word, as though the explanation was plain enough. And maybe for Merlin, it was. The rest of them would just have to trudge up the hill to see if there was a better answer waiting for them.

"It might be best if not all of us went," Guinevere said, "It's not as though the history between our peoples has been the best recently. I wouldn't want to overwhelm the poor girl before we even set off for home."

"Somehow I doubt you'd be able to overwhelm either one of them, but it's a thoughtful gesture." Merlin offered Guinevere a hand to help her down from her horse. Gwaine did the same for Linnet, and Lancelot found himself reaching for Elayne's slender hand and, for once, not minding the starry-eyed smile she gave him. Nor did he mind her racing chatter as they made their way up the hill, Lancelot with a hand at her elbow to aid her when she slipped.

There seemed to be something different about Elayne these days, though it wasn't a change in her peaches and cream complexion, or in the crystal blue of her wide eyes. Perhaps it had to do with being a lady in waiting to a queen, but while Elayne was still prone to laughing out of turn or saying things that sounded naive, there was something about her manner that had subtly changed.

Or maybe it was just because those around her- the knights, Guinevere, and especially Merlin- had seen so much darkness that Elayne seemed childlike in comparison. But whatever had caused the change, Lancelot discovered that he no longer minded they way her hand rested in the crook of his elbow.

It took them perhaps a quarter of an hour to reach the hill's summit, a clear bit of land overlooking the river, with the city of Camelot glittering like a pale illusion far in the distance. A single old oak spread its branches over the hilltop, and by the time Lancelot and Elayne arrived, Merlin had already begun his introductions. "...My Lady, this is Iseldir, a leader among the Druids. He has been my friend and guide through many troubles."

'_Indeed.' _It was the same man who had appeared out of nowhere on the coldest of nights last winter, brought aid unlooked for, and saved Merlin's life. The girl at his side had been there, too, Lancelot realized, though he hardly recognized her, half-hidden as she was in the shadows of the tree. He remembered those green eyes, and how they looked at the world so fearlessly. Now they were looking at Merlin, and none of them missed the way their gazes, Merlin's and the girl's, met and locked for heartbeat before shyly sliding away from each other.

"My Lord Iseldir, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Merlin has told us about you, but I feared we would never find a way to speak with you in person," Guinevere said. She offered the Druid her hand. He took it, half-bowed to her, and pressed a gentle kiss against her fingers.

"I am no lord, but it is a great pleasure to meet you at last, Your Majesty. Merlin has often spoken to me of your grace and wisdom." This prompted an embarrassed laugh from Guinevere, who still wasn't used to the sorts of flattery a queen received, even if it was honest praise. "I had hoped to speak with the King?"

"Arthur sends his regrets, but matters of state kept him from coming. I am sure he would have rather come with us today than be in council meetings, but even Kings don't always get to do what they want," Guinevere said. Lancelot smiled at that, remembering the disappointed look that had been on Arthur's face when Leon's reports about new fighting along the eastern borders had kept him from coming along. Summer's warmth still lay across the land, but autumn would come soon enough, and with it the rains and eventual snow that would keep them all indoors.

"Indeed," Iseldir said. "Another time, then. For now, let me make an introduction. Niniane?" He gestured for the girl to step forward into a little patch of sunlight, and they got their first look at her in full sunlight.

Slender as a willow wand, she was, but not frail. She held her head high, blinking in the sunlight as the breeze blew a few stray locks of her dark hair around her face. Her gaze flicked back to meet Merlin's again, and it occurred to Lancelot just how much alike the two Druids and Merlin were, with their subtle grace and the quiet dignity they carried themselves with.

Niniane smiled and looked away from Merlin, glancing up at Guinevere before lowering herself in a curtsey that was only a little shaky at the end. Well done, considering the girl had probably never bowed to anyone before in her life. "Your Majesty," she said. Her voice was soft and laced with music.

""There's no need for that, Niniane," Guinevere held her hands out for Niniane to take. "Not all the way out here, anyway. I'm so glad to meet you at last. Merlin speaks highly of you," she said, her tone knowing as she cast a sidelong glance at Merlin, who blushed and looked down at his feet as though they had suddenly become very interesting. Guinevere grinned at his discomfort and looked back to Niniane. "Before we leave, though, I want you to be sure that this is what you want. Life in Camelot is going to be a lot different from what you're used to, and the court can feel a bit suffocating sometimes. Are you sure you're ready for all the changes?"

"Maybe not?" Niniane's voice shook a little, but she forced the smile back onto her face. "But there's something I'm meant to do in Camelot, Your Majesty. I don't know what, but whatever it is, it's important," she said in a rush before stopping suddenly, as though ashamed at the boldness of her words. Niniane licked her lips and looked up through her eyelashes at Guinevere. "I am trained in the arts of healing and midwifery, so I do have skills to bring to your household, Majesty."

"I'm sure your skills will be most useful, then, though I hope we make use of the latter more than the first," Guinevere said.

Niniane laughed. "Indeed, Majesty." She bobbed a small curtsey again, then looked up at the faces all around her. Her eyes widened, as though she were unsure of herself, and she looked to Merlin for help.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I should have made introductions before. Niniane, these mostly good people around you are Lady Elayne and Lady Linnet, your fellow ladies in waiting. This is Sir Elyan, Queen Guinevere's brother." Merlin gestured to Elyan, then across to where Lancelot stood by Percival and Gwaine. "The tall one is Sir Percival, and over there is Sir Lancelot. The scruffy one is Sir Gwaine. Don't listen to a word he says." Everyone enjoyed a laugh at Gwaine's expense, while the knight scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You'll meet the other knights when we reach Camelot. And Arthur, of course."

"Of course." Niniane swallowed, and took a deep breath. Iseldir put a fatherly hand on her shoulder, and she gave him a grateful smile.

"Well," Guinevere clapped her hands together, her fingers folding around each other in and anxious knot. It seemed Niniane and Merlin weren't the only nervous ones there. "I had a picnic brought with us. It's such a lovely day, I thought we might enjoy the sunshine before we go back to the city. There aren't so many nice days before the rains come. It seems a shame to waste one."

"Indeed not, Your Majesty," Iseldir accepted the invitation smoothly. To Lancelot's eye, he was the most peaceful one there, just as he had been at the Blackheath camp last winter. It was no wonder he was a leader among his people. His stillness inspired others to be calm, as well, spreading it over the clearing like a warm blanket.

Guinevere gestured for them to bring the food up, and soon enough they were all relaxing in the shade with the birds singing all around. Niniane was warming up to the other women; an easy task, with Elayne's chatter running on like a rippling brook, and Guinevere's bright manner. The queen and the Druid had more in common than they thought, and each similarity brought them closer together, no matter how minor it was. Another hour brought such an ease among the four of them that one might have thought they'd known each other all their lives. It seemed that way to Lancelot, anyway, and he quietly moved to where the other knights sat, on the outskirts of it all, keeping watch over the others.

"So what do you think?" Gwaine took a bite of his apple and gestured toward the women.

"What do I think of what?" Lancelot settled down with his back to a slender tree. Between the warmth, the wine, and the food, he was half-ready to nod off.

"Of Niniane. Do you think she's good enough for him?" Gwaine asked.

"Good enough for who?"

"For Merlin, you dolt." Elyan batted Lancelot on the shoulder and nodded toward the sorcerer. "Haven't you been paying attention to the way that he looks at her?"

Lancelot had noticed. A blind man could have seen how Merlin was looking at Niniane- like a man who has endured a long, dark night and fervently awaits the dawn. "Yes, I've noticed. He's hardly taken his eyes off her. And from the way she looks at him…" Lancelot trailed off and smiled. An errant breeze had blown a strand of hair into the girl's face. She reached up to tuck it behind her ear, the sunlight glinting off the bronze ring on her thumb, and gave Merlin a shy smile. "I think he's made up his mind and doesn't give a damn what we think of it."

"Yeah, well, if she keeps making eyes at him like that, I think it'll be safe to say that she's made up her mind about him, too," Gwaine said. He propped himself up on an elbow and chuckled at the two lovebirds.

"Don't you dare tease him about it, Gwaine. He's been through enough," Lancelot warned the other knight. Gwaine's humor tended toward the droll and ribald, but it could cut deeply enough when he put his mind to it.

"Merlin finally finds someone who can put that sort of smile on his face, and you think I'm going to take him down a notch because of it? Your confidence in me is overwhelming, Lance, it really is." Gwaine chucked his apple core at Lancelot's head. "No, if she makes him happy, then I'll defend her to the death if I have to."

The three of them looked at him in surprise at his serious tone. It wasn't often that Gwaine left off with his jokes and snide comments, but when he did, they all knew better than to dismiss the vows he made.

"I'd do the same," Percival said, his voice soft and just as deadly serious as Gwaine's.

"As would I," Elyan agreed.

"As would we all," Lancelot said. They looked at each other, then raised their glasses to toast their unofficial oath. "For Merlin,"


	3. Chapter 3

"You are standing on shaky ground, My Lord."

Arthur hid a smirk. Though he couldn't say that he was pleased with the direction the conversation had taken, he would admit to a measure of amusement at the verbal drubbing Pynell was going to get if he persisted in arguing with Drusilla. He knew that tone too well. He'd heard it often enough, and though it had usually been leveled at Ector or Kay, Arthur himself had been her target a time or two.

"It's hardly shaky ground, My Lady. It's a known fact that Morgana sent a Druid girl into Camelot to spy for her, and that the spy was exceedingly effective until she was discovered." Pynell glowered at Drusilla. His fingers twitched around his wine cup. If he didn't have a two-handed death grip on it, he'd probably be drumming his fingers on the table.

"And it's known that it was Merlin who discovered her presence and stopped her," Drusilla said, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Your tendency to conflate magic with evil deeds has long since grown tiresome. I would have thought that, with all the other challenges Camelot faces, you would have latched onto a real problem. But instead we find you still ranting about bands of impoverished, homeless healers wandering around in the woods. It's an old argument, and you're not going to get anywhere by continuing to bring it up."

"And while I know you'll never trust a word Merlin says, even if he were to tell you that rain is wet," Leon said, "I would hope that you would trust my judgment. I know the man who is vouching for Niniane, and I trust him. Iseldir saved my life once, and he had no reason to do so. No one would have blamed him for letting me die. I owe the man my life."

"The late king trusted Morgana once, too, as did Your Majesty," Pynell said. He spared a glance to Arthur and briefly bowed his head. "And we know how well that turned out. But I can see when my words aren't being heeded. But if she turns out to be a spy-"

"Then we will cross that bridge when we come to it," Arthur cut him off. He was tired of Pynell's rants about the Druids, and about Niniane in particular. The subject had been discussed to death already, and she was presumably on her way to Camelot with Guinevere, Merlin, and the rest of them. "For now, let's turn our attention back to more pressing matters, particularly the peace accord King Urien wants to discuss a month from now."

"If His Majesty truly wishes to discuss terms of peace, then I'm a sprightly young girl," Drusilla said flatly. Gaius chuckled beside her, but nodded.

"For once, I agree with Lady Drusilla," Pynell said. "Urien has always been sly as a fox in these matters. He's as likely to spring an ambush at the negotiating table as he is to actually discuss peace."

"I think we can all agree on that," Arthur said. "But Sir Lucan always taught me that the trap you know about is the one that's easiest to evade. With that in mind, we will meet Urien where he requests us to, at the Ridge of Ascetir. But we will be bringing the main body of Camelot's army with us. Our scouts have reported that Urien is building up his army and the supplies for it, and that can only mean one thing- that he means to invade. If not Camelot, then one of our neighbors. In either case, we must be ready to defend ourselves."

"Given that Morgana is still betrothed to Urien's second son, it's not outside the realm of possibility that she'll help orchestrate a wintertime attack, like the one on Blackheath just before Yule last year," Leon said. "Has Merlin foreseen anything of the sort?"

"If he has, he hasn't told me about it," Gaius chimed in.

"Nor has he said anything to me," Arthur said. "Though I'm not inclined to put my faith in omens and portents. They can be misread and have outcomes other than what you assume they'll be." Merlin had told him a story not so long ago, about a king who went to a seer to ask about the outcome of a battle. The seer had told him that an empire would fall, and the king had assumed it would be his enemy who would lose. Instead, the seer had predicted the fall of the king who had done the asking.

So while Arthur had faith in Merlin and in his interpretations of his own visions, he wasn't willing to entrust Camelot's future to them. Not entirely, anyway. "Merlin's visions may offer hints about what _might_ happen, but our scouts and spies will always provide the best information," Arthur said.

"Of course," Leon said. "When should we begin mustering our forces?"

"We're to meet with Urien five weeks hence," Arthur said. "Since we've been anticipating some action on his part for some time now, I want the army ready to march in three weeks, just in case Urien has a surprise attack in store for us. The loss of Blackheath last winter was bad enough. I don't want us to be caught off-guard like that again. Are there any other questions?" No one said anything, or if they did, it was lost beneath the sound of shuffled parchment and chairs scraping against the floor. "Very well, then. You're dismissed. Stay a moment, Sir Leon."

Everyone else rose and acknowledged Arthur with brief bows as they departed in a cloud of quiet conversations. When they had gone, a welcome figure appeared in their wake.

"Guinevere." Arthur grinned and held his hands out for her.

She rushed toward him and offered a quick kiss in greeting. "I'm sorry I was late for the council meeting. Did I miss anything important?"

"We just spent the last few hours reitering things we already knew about Rheged, so no, not really," Arthur said.

"We did have a bit of an argument about Niniane's arrival," Leon said. "Pynell seems to think that she's some sort of herald of woe, or a spy for Morgana, or is otherwise plotting to do us all harm. Of course, he thinks that about Merlin, too." He rolled his eyes as he corked his ink bottle and tucked his reed pens back into their pouch. "Someday, that man is going to get himself caught up in one of his own conspiracies, and he might not live to regret it."

"Well, that's why we have someone in his household to keep an eye on him. One day, we'll have pulled all his teeth, and he won't be able to do anything more than bark. I am looking forward to that day," Arthur said. He looked back at Guinevere, anxious to change the subject. "I take it you brought Niniane back with you, then, and that your journey was uneventful?"

"Yes, and yes," Guinevere said with a smile. Her cheeks were rosy from a day spent outdoors, and there were a few splatters of mud along the hem of her blue silk gown. "Merlin and the girls are showing her around the castle right now. I thought it might take her longer to settle into her chambers with Elayne and Linnet, but she hardly had anything to unpack. I shouldn't have been surprised by that, I suppose. She's spent her whole live on the move."

"And…?" Arthur asked.

"And what?"

Arthur chuckled and squeezed Guinevere's hands before he let them go. "And what is Mistress Niniane like? Was I right about her and Merlin?"

"She is as charming as she is beautiful," Guinevere said. "I think even Lord Pynell would he hard-pressed to dislike her if he spent a while talking to her. And yes, Merlin is completely smitten. He hardly took his eyes off her once she'd joined us. I think this arrangement is going to work out very well."

"Good. It's about time Merlin found a girl," Leon said. "Maybe he'll learn to smile again."

"If her reaction to him was any sign, I don't think it'll be a problem," Guinevere said. She paused and glanced around the otherwise empty council chamber, then back up at Arthur. "Is something supposed to happen now? Or are we just standing in here for the fun of it?"

"We're waiting for someone who is taking his time in showing up," Arthur said.

"And I was waiting for you to finish your gossip, Sire," a voice said from an alcove at the back of the room.

"Sir Bedivere." Arthur said with a touch of irritation in his voice. "Have you anything to report, or were you just going to lurk in the background all day?"

"As much as I enjoy lurking about, I do have duties to attend to. His lordship's guards need their training, after all," Bedivere said. He swaggered into the sunlight, his mismatched eyes focused on Arthur as he bowed to the king and queen. His odd gaze and untamed hair lent him a feral air, though Arthur was well aware of the keen intelligence that hid behind the wildness. It was that combination that made him choose Bedivere above his other knights to infiltrate the sometimes unruly lords in the Eastern Marches.

"I've gotten closer to Pynell in the last few weeks, Sire," Bedivere began, "but he still doesn't trust me enough to include me in his household, though a few of his attendants speak freely enough when you loosen their tongues with ale."

"And what do they have to say?" Arthur asked.

Bedivere's frustration showed in the shrug of his shoulders. "They say that his lordship has an agent, and that they haven't seen him or heard from him. It's no surprise, though, that he has someone to do his dirty work. Your Majesty has a few of us for the same purpose." Bedivere smirked and rested a hand on the hilt of his dagger. "But whether this agent was the same one that threatened the woodsman and his family, no one seems to know. It's as much a mystery to them as it is to us."

"I'd bet a hundred gold crowns that they're one and the same," Leon said. "Has he been up to anything else of late?"

"Other than preparing his men to head east with you and strengthening his forces at Tintagel, it looks like he's finally brushed the chip off his shoulder and is preparing to see to the kingdom's business instead of his own," Bedivere said, though there was a note in his voice that suggested doubt.

Guinevere picked up on it, too. "But you think he's making other plans? "Do you think he's going to try something to harm Merlin again? Another assassination attempt?"

"None of that was proven," Arthur said softly. Though Pynell was the most likely person to have hired the assassin from the previous spring, there was no proof of it, and it would be unseemly for the king- or the queen- to make accusations without proof, though god knew others did that readily enough. Even his father had.

"No, there's no evidence to link Pynell to the assassin or to the woodsman, and nothing to show that he's looking to harm Merlin at all," Bedivere said. "But if I had to make a guess about the man, I'd say he has something up his sleeve. After all the poison he's been spouting about sorcerers and Druids in the past year or so, it's hard to imagine that he'd just give up and accept their presence in Camelot."

"I doubt Pynell will ever give up that sort of hatred. He'll keep worrying at it, like a dog with a bone, until his teeth break." Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. With all that was going on along the border of Rheged, the mystery of Morgana's whereabouts, and the rumors of Saxon ships being sighted along the eastern coasts, Arthur had enough to worry about without his own lords causing trouble within the realm. "Unless you have anything else to speak of, get back to your duties. We don't want him to notice your absence and wonder where you've gotten to."

"Majesties." Bedivere nodded to Arthur and Guinevere in turn before disappearing into the same alcove he'd come in from.

"Do you think it would be wise to summon Pynell's son to court?" Leon asked. "To keep him here under your eye as a hostage of sorts, the way you took Gareth in to ensure King Hywel's cooperation? He and Gareth aren't so far apart in age. You could keep them both on as squires."

Arthur thought about it a moment, then shook his head. "No, we'll let Erec stay where he is for the moment. Unless she's changed in the past few years, his lady mother will keep the boy on as steady a path as can be expected for any son of Pynell. But I'll keep it in mind in case his lordship decides to be a problem again in the future." He let out a long breath and searched his memory, looking for any topics they had missed in the council meeting. None sprang to mind. "Right, then." He took Guinevere's arm to escort her out of the council chambers. "I'm sure George is waiting impatiently for us to eat the supper he's prepared. Then after that, there's a certain lady-in-waiting I would like to meet."


	4. Chapter 4

"And what's this one?"

"That," Merlin said, "is Gaius's special salve to treat eye infections. And believe me, your patients won't want to know what's in it. But it works like a charm." He put the jar of odd-smelling goo back onto the shelf and looked back at Niniane, but her attention was on the rows of herbs and medicines on the bench on front of her. After they'd finished a brief tour of the main body of the castle and let Niniane unpack her few belongings in the chambers she would be sharing with Elayne and Linnet, Niniane had insisted on visiting Gaius's chambers. To learn about the medicines and other remedies the physician had that she had never seen before.

So she said. Merlin had half hoped she wanted to escape the watchful eyes of the servants and courtiers to be alone with him for a moment, but even that thought had been squelched when they came in the door to find Gaius at the table, reading one of his old medical books.

"I bet it's made with something horrid. Medicines always seem to be like that," Niniane said. "Aelwen used to swear that cow's urine boiled down to a paste kept wounds clean. We always hated when she made it, because it made the camp stink like a thousand wet socks had been buried for a week, then left in the sun to dry out." She shuddered at the memory, her rosebud lips twisting into an expression of disgust.

"Did it work?"

"She's never killed anyone with it, but we all did our best to avoid her when we skinned our knees as children," Niniane said. She looked up at Merlin, her eyes sparkling.

Merlin felt his heart skip a beat. Again. It had been doing that all day. Could she sense it, and wasn't saying anything about it? Or was he hiding it well enough? "I'll do my best to avoid her remedies, too, then." He laughed.

"Don't worry. Aelwen's mostly harmless," Niniane said. She brushed her fingertips against the next jar in the row. Merlin couldn't quite comprehend how her fingers could be so slender and graceful. "What does this one do?"

"Uh… Hemp seeds. You can use the juice to soothe earaches, among other things. They're not common, though, so we, ah, usually only use the remedy for children," Merlin said. He caught a glimpse of Gaius out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't tell if the raised eyebrow was an admonishment to be careful with his heart, or if the old healer was merely amused by Merlin's badly hidden nervousness.

Whatever Gaius's thoughts were, Niniane didn't seem to notice. Her fingers skipped down the row of medicines, finally landing on one in an oddly shaped vial. She smoothed the peeling label down, but it defied her efforts. "What's this one? I can't read the label. I've never seen writing like that before."

Merlin winced, remembering the ashy flavor of that particular liquid. "Tears of the Poppy. It's even rarer than the hemp seeds. It comes from far to the east of the deserts of Araby. Beyond Samarkand, even." She smiled up at him, though he could see in her eyes that she had no idea what he was talking about. "It's a powerful painkiller that induces a deep and dreamless sleep. The trouble is, if you take it too often, you can't bear to live without it. And if you take too much of it, it can be deadly." Merlin's own smile faded. "Gaius gave it to me three times last winter. It seemed like the only thing that helped with the pain sometimes."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Niniane's eyes darkened. She gave his hand a quick squeeze under the table. Her touch was too fleeting for Merlin's liking.

"It's fine. You didn't know. And it was last winter, anyway. A long time ago." Merlin shrugged off the memories of fire and pain and summoned up a smile, just for her. The light came back to her eyes, and she grinned up at him. Merlin wanted to say something charming just then, but kept his mouth shut, just in case one the butterflies that had appeared in his stomach decided to fly away and make a fool of him.

She held his gaze a moment longer, then her cheeks flushed pink and she ducked her head. "Do you-"

The door burst open. Whatever Niniane had been about to say was lost in the sudden noise.

Merlin's head snapped around, a spell rising to his lips as the instinct to defend those around him kicked in. He drew a breath to speak the words, then snapped his mouth shut. Around the room, candles flickered as he released his magic harmlessly into the air.

"I was starting to wonder where you'd got off to, Merlin." Arthur ushered Gwen in behind him, a knowing smile tugging at his lips at Merlin's surprise. It turned to genuine delight when Niniane stepped out from behind the warlock. "And this would be Mistress Niniane, wouldn't it?"

Niniane took a few steps forward and made an awkward curtsey, stepping on the edge of her skirt and nearly toppling over in the process. She let out an embarrassed giggle when Merlin caught her arm to steady her. "Yes, Your Majesty. I'm Niniane. Merlin was just showing me the different sorts of medicines you have in Camelot. There are so many of them I've never seen before, not even in Helva." She stopped and bit her lip, blushing again as she lowered her eyes. "Forgive me, Majesty. I'm speaking out of turn."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Arthur said, glancing back and forth between Niniane and Merlin, the smirk slowly returning to his face. Merlin bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something unwise or blushing. "No one ever seems to take their turn in speaking. I spend my days in a cloud of mindless chatter. Most of it comes from Merlin."

Gwen poked Arthur in the ribs. "Be polite," she said as she threw an amused glare up at him. "Don't mind him, Niniane. We're thrilled to have you here. I hope your time in Camelot helps mend some of the rifts between our peoples."

"Thank you, My Lady," Niniane bobbed her head and smiled at Gwen. A lock of her silken hair fell over her shoulder, and Merlin was sorely tempted to tuck it back in place. He restrained himself. Barely.

"I trust that your chambers will be adequate," Arthur said. "I hope you don't mind sharing them, but it's customary for the queen's ladies to be assigned to the same rooms."

Niniane laughed again. "Majesty, after a lifetime on the move and spending my nights sleeping under the stars with an entire camp surrounding me, having chambers that I share with only two people is a luxury I never dreamed of having."

Merlin smiled. He'd once told Arthur very much the same thing, that a lumpy mattress in a former storage room was the best bed he'd ever had.

"Well I suppose that's settled, then. I'm glad to have you here, Niniane," Arthur said. "I hope your time in Camelot is a happy one." Merlin studiously ignored the knowing glance the king sent his way before Arthur turned his attention to Gaius. "I don't suppose you have a list of supplies and whatnot you'll need before we go to meet with Urien, do you?"

Whatever Gaius's response was, Merlin didn't hear it. He was trying to shove his disappointment away into some hidden corner of his mind. He had hoped to steal some time alone with Niniane before tomorrow, when the list of their duties would either keep them apart, or have them under the watchful eye of the court. That was hardly the ideal time to talk to her, to see if his feelings were mutual, or if she was simply the kind of person who smiled brightly at everyone.

He couldn't blame her if she didn't share his affections. Next to the knights, he must seem like a faded scarecrow, too thin, too scarred, and a bit too bedraggled to be thought of as attractive. Especially compared to Lancelot and Gwaine. He only needed a moment of privacy to ask her, but it seemed he wouldn't be granted even that much time.

'_Are our thoughts not private enough, Emrys?' _Niniane's soft voice echoed in his mind without warning.

Merlin jumped, startled, and knocked over a bottle on the table. He caught it with a tendril of magic before it could roll off the table and shatter. Arthur glanced back at him and smirked. _'I suppose you heard all of that, didn't you?' _Merlin sent the thought to Niniane as he caught her gaze, his cheeks burning.

'_Only the part where you wanted a moment or two of privacy. With me.'_ She smiled up at him. It wasn't one he had seen her give anyone else. Those smiles were equal measures of sweetness and excitement. This one was filled with adoration and hope, and perhaps with a little bit of uncertainty. _'At least I hoped it was with me, and not with another...' _Her smile wavered.

'_Yes, with you. Of course it would be with you. Who else would it be?'_

If he had thought her countenance was bright before, it was radiant now. Niniane shone brighter than the sun, and her green eyes lit up like the dawn of a midsummer morning. _'But I'm no one next to the women of the court. They're like colorful songbirds, and I'm a little woodland sparrow compared to them.'_

'_I like sparrows.' _

Niniane burst out laughing. The conversation across the room stuttered to a halt as Gaius and the others turned to stare at them. Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow, and Merlin gave him his best 'I'm innocent' expression as Niniane pursed her lips to control her giggles.

"Did I miss something?" Arthur asked.

"No. Nothing at all," Merlin quickly replied.

Arthur looked back and forth between Merlin and Niniane for another few moments, then rolled his eyes and returned to his conversation.

'_I'm sorry,' _Niniane's voice sounded in Merlin's mind again._ 'I wasn't laughing at you. It just struck me as funny.'_

'_Obviously.' _He made sure his mental voice held enough humor to balance out the sarcasm. _'It seems that's settled, then. Apparently we both like each other.'_

'_So it would seem.'_

Merlin's grin faded away as he worked up the courage to tuck the wayward strand behind her ear. _'Then what should we do about it?' _Her hair was as soft as he had imagined it would be.

'_I've heard there are many places in the castle for secret meetings. Perhaps we'll be able to find one of them someday soon.' _Niniane reached up and brushed her fingertips against the back of his hand before he drew it away. '_In the meantime, then, we'll just have to make do with our thoughts.' _She glanced away to where Arthur and Gwen were finishing their conversation with Gaius. _'I hope it will be enough for you.'_

'_It's more than enough.' _It was as much as he could hope for, and perhaps more than he deserved.

'_I'm glad.' _She gave him one last, radiant smile before Arthur and Gwen turned back to them.

"It's getting late," Gwen said. "Unless there's another part of the castle you'd like to see, Niniane, I think we should all get some rest. It's been a long day, and tomorrow isn't going to be any shorter."

"No, My Lady. I think I've seen enough of the castle to get myself completely lost if I have to wander through it alone," Niniane said. She ducked her head, as though embarrassed to admit that she might get lost in the castle's maze-like hallways.

"Don't worry. Everyone gets lost at first. I'm sure Merlin would be happy to show you around again tomorrow," Arthur said. He was barely holding back a smile. Merlin cringed inwardly, imagining the sort of teasing he'd have to endure over the next few… weeks? Months? But it was worth putting up with the knights' jibes, if his and Niniane's mutual affection turned to love.

It was worth it, no matter what the ending would be.

"Good night, then, Gaius," Arthur nodded to the healer. "Merlin, try not to trip over yourself in the morning. You've a long day ahead of you. Audiences and meetings, and then more meetings. It's going to be fun."

"I look forward to it," Merlin said dryly.

Gwen grinned as she looked back and forth between them. "Good night, Merlin. Come along, Niniane. We'll take you back to our chambers, and Elayne can show you the way to your room from there."

"Thank you, My Lady." Niniane bobbed another graceless curtsey to the royal couple. "Good night, Gaius." She followed Gwen to the door and glanced back at Merlin. '_Good night, Emrys.'_

The door closed behind her before Merlin could get it through his thick skull that he should return the farewell. He just stared at the spot where she'd been until Gaius cleared his throat. The physician's eyebrow had risen nearly high enough to join his hairline.

"Well?" Gaius said.

"What?"

Gaius gave him a level look then shook his head slightly, having come to some sort of decision he wasn't necessarily pleased about. "It's the doom of old men, that the young never listen to their advice. Especially in matters of the heart." He marked the page in the book he'd been reading before setting it down on the work table next to Merlin. "I can see from the look in your eyes that nothing I can say will change your mind about what you want. Take it slowly. Don't set yourself up for a broken heart."

"I'll try not to. But I can't promise anything." Merlin gave Gaius a rueful smile before he turned to head into his own room, the memory of Niniane's silken hair and her fingers against his hand still thick in his head. It had been so long since he'd lost Freya, so many years since a woman had looked twice at him. Could anyone blame him for wanting that sort of attention? For wanting to be in love again?

Merlin dropped onto his bed and tugged at the laces of his half-gloves, pulling them off and carefully running his fingers over the scarring around his wrists. He was suddenly acutely aware of the burn scars that wrapped around his torso and wound their way up his back. Between the strangeness of his magic and the physical manifestations of the tortures he'd endured, it was hard to imagine that any woman of Camelot could love him.

Niniane, with her beauty and her wit, was easy to fall for.

"_Don't set yourself up for a broken heart," _Gaius had admonished. But if Merlin's visions- and his own desires- were right, it was far too late for that.


	5. Chapter 5

Niniane's first week in Camelot passed uneventfully, and for all of Pynell's fuss before the Druid girl's arrival, he endured her presence with only a few sullen glances and managed, for once, to keep his mouth shut and attend to the kingdom's business with minimal fuss. Perhaps it was because of the ongoing problems along the border with Rheged. Perhaps it was something else. Guinevere was simply glad he was holding his tongue, as much as his silence worried her.

There were too many things to worry about these days. Myriad problems that never seemed to die without another one- or two- arriving to take their place. It wasn't that she hadn't known that there would be so many issues to take care of when she became queen. She had been a member of the court before Arthur had ever caught her eye, and she had seen the council at work, but there was a difference between seeing the problems from the side, and being one of those taking care of them.

Her shoulders had been in knots for ages now. The only time she was truly calm was in the quiet of the night, when she was alone with Arthur. Or times like now, in the bath with her ladies attending to her. Times like these she could gossip and laugh with them, and forget her cares for a while, as she and Morgana had done ages ago when they were girls, and life had been simple.

Guinevere sighed and settled against the edge of the tub as Elayne chattered away while buffing Guinevere's fingernails. "... so in the end, it turned out to be a big misunderstanding. You see, Lady Anne's page had delivered the message to Sir Roger, instead of her brother, Sir Hugh. Now, you know Lady Anne is a reasonable sort of person, so when Lady Charity showed up demanding to know why Roger, her betrothed, was in the Astley household so late at night, Anne was able to calm Charity down and explain the whole misunderstanding," Elayne said, her voice as bright as ever, her eyes sparkling as she told the story that had, apparently, set half the lower court on its ear for the past few days. "As it turns out, the page was a seven-year old boy who can't read very well and had simply mixed up the names he saw on the note."

"What did Lady Charity do then? She seems like something of a firebrand, and not one to just let things drop," Niniane said. She draped half of Guinevere's hair over her shoulder and set about combing the rest of it.

"Anne invited the both of them, Lady Charity and Sir Roger, to the celebration they're having in a fortnight in honor of Lord Astley's birthday," Elayne said, "and since the Astleys set such a fine table for their feasts, Charity was extremely flattered and went home happy as a songbird in spring."

"All's well that ends well, I suppose," Guinevere said, a genuine smile spreading across her face at the news of the resolution. If only all their problems could be solved with a reasonable explanation and an invitation to dinner. She skimmed her finger over surface of the water and sat up far enough to roll her shoulders. The warmth of both the bath and her company had eased her knotted muscles. "And speaking of happy endings," Guinevere turned her head to give Linnet a meaningful look. "When are you going to stop pretending that you haven't fallen head over heels for Gwaine? He's been pining for you for months and hasn't given anyone a second glance since he laid eyes on you."

Linnet glanced up from the scents she was mixing, her lips set in a petulant moue. "He's a scoundrel," she said and looked down at the bowl in her lap while trying to keep the smile off her face. It didn't work.

Guinevere laughed. "He's a loyal scoundrel, though. Once he sets his mind- or his heart- on something, he's unswerving in that loyalty. You could do far worse."

Linnet shrugged and set to grinding the herbs with a quiet vengeance.

"Why are you so unsure about this?" Niniane asked. "If you're in love with him, then why don't you act on it? Life is too short not to."

"Act on it? As in..?" Elayne looked up, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushing a lovely shade of red.

"As in 'bed the man before he gives up and looks elsewhere'? Yes, Elayne, that's exactly what I mean." Niniane finished combing Guinevere's hair and separated a section out to braid. "Is there something you're waiting for? Or are you just scared?"

Linnet's head came up, a look of barely suppressed outrage on her face. "I am not afraid of him. I- It's- It's just not done. Not like that. Not without a wedding."

Niniane chuckled, and Guinevere glanced back at her. There was a knowing smile on the Druid girl's face. "Among my people, if a woman desires a man, she can act on that desire without having to wed him. And the other way around, too," Niniane said. All three of them were looking at her now, eyebrows raised, the same, silent question sitting on the tips of their tongues and waiting to be asked. "What? Among my people, men and women are free to give themselves to each other as they choose. Such pleasures are a gift from the gods, and nothing to be ashamed of."

"You- well." Guinevere covered her mouth with her hand, feeling a blush bloom in her cheeks. "I had no idea. I just assumed that everyone had the same traditions as us. It just seems rational, this way. Our way, I mean."

Niniane laughed and tied a quick knot in the end of the slender braid she'd woven into Guinevere's hair. "Perhaps, among your people, it makes a certain kind of sense. But we're different. We see the world a little differently and have different traditions. Perhaps…." She trailed off and her smile fell away. She shifted in her seat to begin a braid on the other side of Guinevere's head and give herself time to collect her thoughts. "Perhaps it's one of the reasons the Old Pendragon was so keen on hunting us down. Because our traditions were so different from yours. Who knows? Perhaps if your ways were more like ours, then this dispute between HIs Majesty and Morgana wouldn't be so destructive. It's probably just foolish to debate the matter, though. This is the world we live in, and we must deal with the consequences of it."

"Indeed," Guinevere said. She slumped against the side of the tub, her thoughts wandering to the darkened corners of her mind; to her father, who might have lived if Uther hadn't been so afraid of magic, and to Morgana, who might be more like Merlin had many things been different for her. So many things that might have ended differently, had those in power been more understanding.

Linnet looked up from her work, a sly look in her dark eyes. "Have you, then?"

Niniane returned Linnet's questioning look with a quiet smile of her own. "Have I known a man in _that_ way? Yes, I have. At the festival of Beltaine. Just as we ask the gods for a bountiful harvest, we ask them to bless us with children."

"When you say it like that, it doesn't sound so outlandish," Guinevere said. "Some people like to tell tales about the Druids, that you make blood sacrifices to dark gods and other, worse things. But then, I suppose men like the Sarrum say those things to make your people sound barbaric to justify what was done to you."

"That sounds likely," Niniane said. Her fingers slowed to a stop in Guinevere's hair. Then she took a long breath and summoned a smile from some deep place within. "But it's a new day now. Arthur is ushering a new age where all of us have a chance to live in peace."

"With whomever we choose," Linnet said. She had a faraway look in her eyes, and Guinevere wondered if her thoughts were on a certain scruffy knight. Then Linnet shook her head and glanced at Elayne. "Perhaps you'll finally gather up your courage to ask Sir Lancelot to escort you the next time there's a dance at court. You've been pining for him since the first time you laid eyes on him."

"Can you blame me?" Elayne sighed. "He's so kind and honorable. And handsome." Elayne smiled brightly. "Perhaps I should set my sights on someone else, but a girl can dream, can't she? I mean, look at Guinevere. A servant who married a king. Who would have ever thought something like that could happen?"

Guinevere sent a little splash of water into Elayne's face. The girl's laugh rang through the candlelit chamber like silver bells. "If you ask Merlin, he'd tell you that it was always meant to be." Merlin had never been surprised by the love that had bloomed between her and Arthur, no matter how many times Guinevere complained about what a brat Prince Arthur was. Perhaps he had foreseen it. Or maybe, like so many other times, he had simply seen the truth that everyone else refused to admit.

"Speaking of Merlin." Linnet turned her gaze on Niniane. "Don't think we haven't noticed the way you watch him at court, when you think no one's looking. Are you sweet on him, or do you have some dark and nefarious plan for the only sorcerer in the court of Camelot?" Linnet's smile was a wicked thing, promising all sorts of teasing, no matter what Niniane's answer was.

"Of course I look at him. He's important to my people. He helped make us free, helped to make magic legal again. He's…. wonderful," Niniane finished softly. Guinevere glanced back at her, but the girl just looked down at her hands as she finished off the second braid, then started winding the two plaits together to hold the rest of Guinevere's hair back. "Anyway. I've seen the way he looks at me. My gazes, at least, aren't unrequited." Niniane reached over the edge of the tub to flick a handful of water at Elayne, who squeaked and scrunched up her nose, looking completely adorable as she wiped her face with her sleeve.

There was a chuckle from the doorway, deeper than any of the girls'. They all turned to find Arthur peering through the doorway watching them, a contented smile on his face. He looked so calm in the candlelight, and more peaceful than Guinevere had seen him look for a long time. The door hardly made a sound as he pushed the door open far enough to lean against the jamb.

The girls were awkward as they tried to make their curtsies without dropping their tasks or tripping over their skirts, but Guinevere just turned and folded her arms on the edge of the tub without rising or revealing anything more than her collarbones. "Are you spying?" she asked.

He had the good grace to look a little embarrassed, a faint blush rising to his cheeks as he looked down at the floor. "Perhaps for a bit, but can you blame me? The most beautiful woman in Camelot in her bath, surrounded by her ladies, each of whom is nearly as lovely as she is?" His smile widened at Elayne's giggle. "I should go and let you finish up without a smelly man lurking about."

"If you're that smelly, I don't think I want you around at all," Guinevere teased.

"Maybe I don't smell, then. But I am lurking where I shouldn't be. Good night, ladies." He pushed away from the doorway and gave Guinevere one last smile as he disappeared into the next room.

She chuckled as she settled back into the tub and brushed her fingers over the water's surface. It was starting to cool off, and… Guinevere hadn't missed the spark of desire in Arthur's eyes, and he probably hadn't missed the same in hers. "I think I'm as clean as I'm going to get. Bring me a towel and my nightdress, and then you can all go. I'll see you all in the morning." She stepped out of the tub, shivering as the cool air hit her skin.

"Have a pleasant night, then, My Lady." Niniane grinned as she draped the towel around Guinevere's shoulders. If the knowing glint in the girl's eyes was any indication, she had a clear idea of what was on the queen's mind.

"Good night, Niniane. Elayne." Guinevere smiled at the girls as they headed for the door, their heads close as they whispered together. Niniane shushed Elayne when her whispers grew a little too loud, and then they and their gossip were gone. Guinevere turned to find Linnet, nightgown in hand, and a faraway look in her eyes. "Is there something on your mind?"

Linnet jumped, her dark eyes widening. "I- Sorry, My Lady. I was just… thinking. About some of the things Niniane said." She glanced down for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's nothing."

"I'm sure," Guinevere smirked, but said nothing else as Linnet draped the soft linen over Guinevere's head, loosely tied the laces in a loose bow, and started toweling the last of the dripping water from the queen's hair. "Linnet, stop." She took the towel from the other woman's hands and tilted Linnet's chin up. "I think I can finish this part myself. Becoming queen hasn't made me helpless. Besides. Whatever's on your mind, you should go and take care of it."

Linnet's sly smile widened. "Yes, My Lady. I'll do that. Have a good night." She made a quick curtsy before heading out the door in a rustle of silk and linen.

Guinevere grinned again as the door closed. She had a good idea of what was on Linnet's mind. Or more precisely, _who_ was on the lady's mind. And while society might say that a queen should do her best to ensure that her ladies-in-waiting were always pure and virtuous, Guinevere had decided months ago that she wasn't their mother. They were free to make their own choices, just as she and Arthur had made theirs.

She straightened her nightgown and smoothed the fabric over her waist and hips, closing the door quietly behind her as she made her way through the antechamber and into the bedroom she and Arthur shared. She stopped.

Arthur hadn't noticed that she had come in. He stood by the window, his hair and shoulders limned by the light of a single candle, his face lit with moonlight. His feet were bare, his arms crossed loosely in front of himself as he looked out over the city. Guinevere crossed the room silently, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Everything's fine." He turned and held her close for a moment before pulling away to look at her. He brushed his fingers over her damp hair. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

"Oh, really?" she asked as she reached past him to flick the curtain closed. "And just how lucky is that?"

Arthur took the end of one of her nightgown's laces delicately in his fingers and slowly pulled until the knot was ready to give way. Then he stopped and looked through his lashes at her. "Perhaps I'm the luckiest man in all of Camelot tonight?"

Guinevere turned away, just enough to blow the candle out. "Yes," she said, "I think you are."


	6. Chapter 6

"So what are you going to do with the rest of your night, Percival?" Elyan's voice was light as he closed the armory door behind them, and Gwaine suspected he wasn't asking the question just to find out what plans Percival had in mind.

Based on the smirk that appeared on Percival's face, Gwaine knew he was right. "Well," the big knight said, "I hear there's a new barmaid at the Rising Sun. Big brown eyes, curly golden hair. Thought I might head over there and take my chances with a game of dice. And other things."

"I think I might do the same thing," Elyan said. "It's too bad for you, Gwaine. I know you've sworn off women to try to win Lady Linnet's favor. I hear this new girl is the biggest flirt you've ever seen. Not that the other girls at the Rising Sun aren't charming, but, uh, you know how it is."

"Oh, wait. He doesn't." Percival clapped Gwaine on the shoulder and left his hand there until Gwaine ducked away from it. "He has his eye on one particular woman, and she's hardly given him a second thought. It's noble of you to be so honorable, Gwaine. I bet it's a bit lonely, though. But still, at least everyone can see how loyal you are, even if the lady doesn't think very highly of you."

"Can't either one of you find someone else to annoy? There's a city full of people out there, and you're in here bothering me," Gwaine tried to keep from growling. He should have expected this, as much as he mocked everyone else. It was fun when he was the clever one dishing out the mockery. Being on the receiving end was not so enjoyable. "Why don't you go bother Merlin? He's been staring at Niniane since the moment she got here, and she's been staring right back at him. And guess what? He hasn't done anything about it."

"She's only been here a week. It's only a matter of time before one of them makes a move," Elyan said. "And anyway. I'm not so stupid that I'm going to go and make fun of Merlin about anything. Not when he could turn us all into toads. There are some things in this world you just don't do."

"You're right about that," Percival said. He opened the door to a stairway and stepped aside. It was too narrow to let them walk side by side. "Besides. You're just too easy a target, Gwaine. If your ears didn't turn that fantastic shade of red, or if you didn't sputter and forget how to talk, you wouldn't be such an easy target."

Gwaine hurried up the stairs ahead of them. "One day we're going to be out hunting in the forest, and then we'll see who's an easy target." Elyan and Percival just laughed as they followed him up the spiraling steps. Fortunately, the dimness kept them focused on their movements, so Gwaine had the last word. For a few minutes anyway, until they emerged in the hallway where their chambers were, and he had to hurry to reach his door before Elyan could think of something else to taunt him about.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Percival laughed. "Is your lonely bed that entertaining?"

"If it is, I really don't want to know about it," Elyan said.

Gwaine stopped with his hand on the door's latch. "You can both go to hell. I hope someone curses you with a lifetime of bad luck with women."

Elyan laughed and ruffled Gwaine's hair, a gesture that earned him a glare. "Even bad luck is better than your luck. Good night, then, unless you want to get changed out of those grubby clothes and hit the town with us?"

"Not if I'm going to be the butt of all your jokes. I'd rather spend the night alone." He turned to look at the others. Their smiles were barely contained and somehow, they managed to drag one out of Gwaine. "Go on, then. Get out of here. Have fun flirting. Leave me to my lonely misery."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I've got to be up early, anyway," Gwaine said.

"Oh, so now he's lonely _and_ responsible. Are you really the Gwaine we've come to know, or did Merlin put a spell on you?" Percival asked.

"You go away. I'm going to bed," Gwaine said, slipping through the door before they could come up with more taunts. "I'm supposed to be the one making the jokes," he grumbled to himself as he yanked his boots off, then his socks, and tossed them all aside. He straightened, ran a hand through his hair, and stopped.

There were two candles burning. He hadn't left any lit candles behind when he left the room this morning. He hadn't needed any with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

He stood still and searched the dark corners of the room, looking for whoever- or whatever- was in there with him. "What do you want?" Gwaine asked, curling his fingers around the hilt of his dagger.

"Do you really think you need that with me, Sir Knight?" a feminine voice asked.

Gwaine jumped, mistaking the voice for Morgana's at first. But that wasn't right. It was too soft to be the witch's voice. Too teasing. He stepped forward, and so did she- into the candlelight so he could see her face. "Linnet? What-? Why are you-?"

She tilted her head, a faint smile gracing her lips. "No words for me, then? You haven't imagined this sort of scenario before?"

"I- uh. You- you're-"

"Yes, I'm right in front of you." She reached up and traced his jaw with her fingertips. He hadn't shaved for a few days. Hadn't seen a reason to. He was starting to regret that decision.

"Why?"

Linnet looked away and bit her lip. Her fingers fell away from his face. "It was something Niniane said. About life being too short to wait for the things you want. Sometimes, you just have to take things in hand and make it happen."

"What are you saying?" He tilted her chin up with a gentle finger and waited until she looked him in the eye.

"I've waited all this time because of propriety, and because I've been worried about what people will think." She let out a nervous laugh and absently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's not because I'm ashamed of you or anything like that, it's…"

"My reputation?" He chuckled and took her hand. "Yeah, I guess I don't have the best of those. I've been trying to change that."

"I know. And I know it was for me, and I also know that I've been unkind to you. It wasn't because I didn't have any feeling for you. It was…" she glanced away and licked her lips. "There's a certain way that proper young women of the court are supposed to be." Linnet looked back up at him. Her eyes were wide in the candlelight. "But I'm tired of being proper. Niniane's right. Life is too short to be so caught up with what people think." She took a step away, and Gwaine noticed for the first time that she was wearing a simple shift and nothing else. No surcoat, no brocade, no lacings. Just a plain white shift that covered her completely but still managed to reveal her silhouette, even in the dim light. "I think that- well. I think we want the same thing."

Gwaine's heart leapt. Up into his throat, and straight up to heaven. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her, suppressing a disbelieving laugh when she melted against him. "So you won't run away screaming if I tell you that I am hopelessly, stupidly in love with you?"

She laughed. "No. I don't think there's much out there that would make me run away screaming. You least of all."

He leaned back a little to kiss her on the cheek, but Linnet turned so he kissed her on the lips instead. They didn't part until they'd run out of breath.

"What do we do now?" Gwaine asked at last. He brushed his fingers over her hair and smiled when she nestled closer.

"Well," she said slyly as she slipped out of his arms and took his hands. "I didn't come all this way to say a thing and then leave." She took a step back, then another. Toward the bed.

Gwaine's breath caught in his throat. "You're sure about this?"

"Oh yes," she breathed. "As sure as I've been about anything."


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin had discovered long ago that most people feared the night. They were afraid of the darkness and what might befall them should they stray too far from the light. But while predators, both man and beast, roamed the darkest reaches, Merlin found the night to be the most peaceful part of the day. The tide of humanity ebbed as people retreated to their homes or to taverns, and the endless pressing of their emotions flowed away with them. They drank together, celebrated, made love. They did whatever they had to do to chase away the shadows. Their rest or revelry gave Merlin some small bit of time to collect his thoughts and fortify himself against the flood of emotion that would wash over him the next day.

Long walks through the castle helped, too. Merlin let his feet guide him along meandering paths through the corridors, setting his mind free to roam down whatever imaginary roads he could dream up. His steps, more often than not, brought him to the same place- to the top of one of two curving stairways beneath a row of stained glass windows.

Last spring, when his blindness had felt its heaviest, he had come here to listen to the music of rain falling on the windows. Now that he could see again, he loved the way the moonlight filtered through, bathing the pale stone with myriad colors that slowly changed as the world turned from dusk toward dawn.

It was just before midnight when Merlin heard her footsteps behind him. They were barely audible, just a faint patter in the stillness of the hallway. He didn't need to look up to know that it was Niniane. He just knew it was her, the way he could tell without opening his eyes that the sun had come out on a cloudy day.

"Emrys?" Niniane's voice was just loud enough to carry across the open space between the stairways, and Merlin was too caught up in listening to her saying his name over and over again to answer. "Are you all right?"

He looked up at her and couldn't help but stare at the way the moonlight caught in her hair, left her eyes in shadow, and outlined her slender figure in its simple grey gown. Of all the visions he'd had of late, this was one he wouldn't mind seeing over and over again. "What dream did you wander out of?" he asked.

Her laughter rang through the corridor. Its echoes didn't fade away until she'd sat down beside him. "It certainly wasn't one of my own." She smiled up at the questioning look he gave her. "I'm still not used to Camelot, or to sleeping in a bed like the one I have now, with its feather pillows and rose-scented blankets. I feel like someone's going to come in one morning and chase me down to the stables where I belong."

"Feather pillows and roses?" Merlin chuckled. "I think I've been serving the wrong person, if that's the case. I've been sleeping in an old storeroom on a worn out straw mattress all this time."

"Is that why you're wakeful, then? Because your bed is uncomfortable?"

"No," he laughed, but his mirth quickly drained away. "I can't sleep because… because I'm me, and my dreams are full of black forests and war. " He looked away from her and tugged at his sleeves, suddenly aware that he'd taken his half-gloves off, and that the wide scars around his wrists were plain to be seen.

"I hope I didn't wander out of any of your dreams, if that's the case." She was so close to him now, with their arms brushing each others' and the hem of her skirt touching his toes. The faint scent of forget-me-nots clung to her, as well as the hide-and-seek notes of asphodel. He shuddered, the perfume raising the ghost of a memory he couldn't quite latch onto. "Do you think I'm afraid of a few scars?" she asked, misinterpreting his movement.

"I think there are few things that you're afraid of. Why would you be here, otherwise, when there are other places in this world that are far kinder to people like us?" He turned to look at Niniane and found her gazing back at him. Her eyes were the deep green of a forest night.

"Because when there's a thing you're fated to do, you have to be in the place where you're meant to do it." She only trembled a little as she reached out and took his hand between both of hers. "Life is a fearsome thing, but I'm not about to let anyone keep me living the life I choose. After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

"Death?"

"Is that all?" Niniane kept a straight face for the span of a breath before her composure crumbled and she started laughing.

"Shh…" Merlin tried to keep his composure, but couldn't. His laughter, at least, was quieter than hers. "Look at us, laughing at Death."

"What else is there to do, except run away screaming? Laughter is at least a little more dignified," she said.

"A little," Merlin admitted. He twined his fingers between hers, and for awhile they just sat together quietly, watching the light through the windows. All around them it was quiet, a stillness broken only by the coming and going of a pair of castle guards, neither of whom gave either Merlin or Niniane more than a second glance as they passed by.

After the guards disappeared down the hall, Niniane sighed and rested her head against Merlin's shoulder. "I like it here."

"Do you mean that you like it here in Camelot, or that you like these stairs?" Merlin glanced at her and smiled. "Or are you trying to say that you like being here with me?"

"That would make you sound very important, wouldn't it?" She chuckled.

"Maybe it would. Am I allowed to have an ounce of vanity?"

Niniane had a pensive look on her face as she thought it over. "I guess you could. Just an ounce, though, so I'll say that it's all three of them. I like Camelot, these stairs, and you." She rose, pulling him up along with her before dropping his hand and hopping up to the top step to look him in the eye. "But I don't love the stairs so much that I would dislike seeing the rest of the castle by night."

"Why by night?" Merlin asked. He straightened his shoulders and took her hand again to lead her down the stairs. There was something like a spark between them when they touched, and he couldn't decide if it was excitement or fear that ran down his spine.

"Because it's night now, and neither of us seems to have anything better to do." She grinned, and Merlin couldn't help but match it with one of his own.

"Let's just wander, then. I always thought that getting lost in here actually helped me learn my way you've gotten lost, you really have to pay attention to get yourself unlost," he said. "Although I wouldn't advise stumbling into the kitchens when the cook is ranting. She will undoubtedly find something to blame you for."

"Tell me there's some sign that you're approaching the kitchens, then. I don't care to be blamed for something I didn't do," Niniane said.

"There are plenty of signs, and I missed all of them," Merlin said. "Come on. I'll show you everything."

And so he did just that, leading her down to the castle kitchens and pointing out where the cook normally held court over dishwashers and pastry chefs alike. Then they headed back up, through winding passageways only the servants knew about, past the nearly hidden spots where on any given night, lovers made assignations, and into the ancient depths of the citadel where the royal family would retreat to, should the castle come under attack. He showed her half a dozen gardens, most of which were large and stately and perfectly manicured, while a couple of them were small and nearly forgotten, but still graceful in their disheveled state.

All in all, he gave Niniane a whirlwind tour of the castle, skipping over such points of interest as the Great Hall and the council chambers, not because she already knew where they were, but because they weren't the parts of the castle he loved best. Places like the throne room and the royal chapel attracted the nobility and foreign emissaries, but for Merlin, they held little meaning, and so he ignored them in favor of the places he loved. Places like the Rose Garden, where Arthur had told him that magic was legal and that he was finally free, or a room just off the armory where he and Gwen had spent a long night cleaning chainmail and commiserating about being in service to royalty. Here was the half-forgotten chapel where Leon had found him, blind and lost, and showed him how to find his way home.

The last stop was a place Merlin had found during his first winter in Camelot. It was where he realized that Camelot was his home, not Ealdor.

"Are you sure these stairs actually lead somewhere?" Niniane asked breathlessly as he led her through the narrowest of corridors while they climbed what felt like an endless set of steps.

"Of course I'm sure. I've been this way often enough." Merlin pushed back the unease growing in the back of his mind and forced himself to smile back at her. He squeezed her hand before willing a bit more power into the little ball of light that illuminated the narrow passage. He had found it by chance after a late night tending to an ailing Prince Arthur. A lung infection had been serious enough to send the prince to his bed, but wasn't bad enough to keep a prattish Arthur from complaining about it until well past midnight, when he'd finally fallen asleep and Gaius had arrived to watch over the prince. "I was dead tired when I found it, and didn't realize at first that no one ever used it. It was full of dust, after all, and the door didn't want to open. Didn't take long to figure out that I was going the wrong way, but I kept going anyway."

"Why?" Niniane scowled at a cobweb that threatened to get caught in her hair, and Merlin banished it with the faintest whisper of magic.

"Stupid curiosity," Merlin said. "This is one of the oldest parts of the castle, and the walls have all sorts of hidden passageways. Probably for servants or soldiers in the early days of the Five Kingdoms, or maybe they were escape routes for the royalty. I have no idea what they were originally for. Some of them lead back to the citadel or the catacombs. Some lead to dead ends. But this one goes somewhere special."

"It had better be special. I think I've climbed mountains with less effort," Niniane said, though the sparkle in her eyes softened the sharpness of her words.

"We're almost there," Merlin assured her.

And they were. They rounded one more curve and the narrow passage leveled out, winding around what must have been one of Camelot's many towers. The space was somewhat wider here, enough that they could stand side by side if they didn't mind brushing against each other.

Which they didn't.

"Here it is," Merlin said, taking Niniane's hand again as he led her to the end of the passageway. There must have been a door there, once upon a time. The archway was both tall and wide enough for it, but the lower half had been bricked up with a pale stone that didn't match the darker gray stone the rest of the wall was made of. The top half was inset with a lattice of iron rods that held narrow slabs of thick glass in place to make a window overlooking the city.

Niniane gasped, her eyes widening as she looked out over the courtyard and to the city beyond, where thousands of candles and torches and lanterns bathed the pale stones with a warm glow, like pearls set amongst a field of gold. Above all of it, the moon hung amongst the gathering clouds, a counterpoint in silver.

"I like to think that some king long ago kept the builders from walling the doorway up completely so he could keep this view and come here when he needed a moment of peace, away from the court and everything else." He dared to rest his hands on Niniane's shoulders, inwardly preparing himself for the moment she would pull away. But all she did was sigh and relax against him. He smiled. "I was feeling rather sorry for myself the night I found this place. Arthur was sick and whining about not feeling well, and Uther was… Uther. And then I opened the wrong door and ended up here. It was the middle of winter. Snow was falling, but the moon was peeking through the clouds. The city was white and silver, and so beautiful." He trailed off, his gaze turning toward the window.

"And somehow you finally felt like you were home," Niniane said, her voice just above a whisper. She touched her fingers to his cheek, tilting his head to look back at her. The warm city lights shone like golden sparks in the depths of her eyes. "I saw it, like I was looking through your eyes," she said. "You had a purpose here, like you'd never had before. One you'd been looking for all your life, and when you found that purpose here, with Arthur, you knew you'd never be truly happy anywhere else, no matter what happened, because your love for him trumps everything else."

He stared down at her, a knot of dread growing in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Niniane's answering smile was gentle. _"Because you showed me, Emrys," _her voice whispered in his mind. _"And you're afraid. What is it you fear?"_

Mind to mind, they could neither lie to each other, nor hide their emotions. _"I'm afraid of what you might do to me, Niniane."_

His eyes stung at the sadness in her smile. She sighed and melted against him, nestling her head under his chin. It felt perfectly natural to wrap his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.

"_There's no need to be sorry, and no reason to fear." _In his mind, Niniane's voice was sad, and yet strangely, there was joy in it. _"I would sooner harm myself than you, Emrys. You are as precious to me as my own life. Perhaps moreso."_

The knot of dread shattered within him and set his heart racing, dredging up a sense of longing within him he hadn't felt since…

"_Emrys?" _Niniane pushed away from him just enough to look up at him. _"You've given me a wonderful gift tonight, with that memory. I never had such a sense of home, or of belonging anywhere or with anyone. To love so much, and be so loved, even though it was only for a moment…" _

He sensed her hesitance and brought a hand up to brush her hair away from her face, softly tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. _"And…?"_

She drew in a long breath. Her lips trembled. _"It seems that, just as I have never known what a true home is, you have never been able to let your walls down, to give yourself completely over to joy, or…" _

"_And you have?" _He asked, knowing what Niniane meant without her having to complete the thought.

"_Yes. And I would share it with you."_

The old longings rose within him, internal fires that hadn't burned since those desperate and too-short hours with Freya in the tunnels bar below. He looked into her eyes and saw the same desire mirrored there. _"Yes." _

Niniane raised her hands and traced her fingertips over his face, brushing her fingers slowly through his hair. _"It was spring…"_

_It was a springtime night, and she was running away from the Beltane fires and the celebrations going on around them, not because she was afraid of what was going to happen, but to make it happen sooner. As Druids, they lived under the stars without privacy, but there were times when the blood was stirring, that privacy was necessary. Such joys as this were best kept between two hearts._

_The forest blurred around her, went dark as she left the fires in the distance and found him waiting for her. The air that had been warm suddenly felt cold against her skin. She shivered, from cold, from joy, from the ecstasy growing within. She opened her eyes to find the stars burning so, so brightly above, like thousands upon thousands of fires burning more brightly in the velvet black than she had ever thought could be possible. She imagined she heard music ringing in the sky, and the white-hot fire of the stars spread across her vision, piercing her to the core until she thought she would burst with it all._

A dull ringing yanked them out of memory, breaking the kiss neither had been prepared for. Her hands were still tangled in his hair, and his were clutched on the small of her back, pressing her against him as though she would vanish with the memory if he let go. They stared at each other, eyes wide,each of them fighting to catch their breath as the ringing droned on.

There was a new light flickering through the window. Not the gentle blue glow of Merlin's spell or the soft radiance of a city by night. This was a dull light, orange and angry, bathing Niniane's face in a bloody haze as though their union had roused the jealousy of an ancient god.

Merlin tore his gaze away from her eyes and forced himself to look out the window to where the warning bells were ringing. The vision that greeted him was something dredged up from his darkest nightmares, a vision of hell made terrifyingly real.

Camelot was burning.


	8. Chapter 8

Fire was something Elyan was familiar with. To him, it was a tool of the trade, the thing he used to melt down a lump of cold metal and turn it into something useful, something beautiful. A ploughshare, perhaps, or a sword. His father had taught him the blacksmith's art when he was a boy, had shown him the secrets of crucible and furnace, and that the flames weren't enemies. They were friends that kept his family warm in the winter, prevented them from starving, and helped his father make wondrous things. The dry scent of a coal fire lived in the back of his throat, as familiar as his own two hands, while the intense heat of the forge was something he'd grown accustomed to.

The scene before him was something from a description of hell, fiery winds, brimstone, and all. There was a low rumbling, like thunder, constant, beating against his ears and his chest like war drums. Above that came the snapping of the flames as they rose up into the soot-blacked night, as though satan and all his demons had brought their whips to punish Camelot for crimes unknown. Overhead, the sky glowed with a dull reddish light, like the last nightfall of the world might look. _'It just might be our last night on this earth…'_

"Elyan!" Percival's shout in his ear broke the knight out of his reverie. "What do we do?"

It took a moment for Elyan to realize that Percival was asking for his advice, as though he would know best how to combat the flames before they consumed the entire city. But why would he have any idea? _'Because you're a blacksmith, idiot. You know fire. You have to know this. They're counting on you.' _He took as deep a breath as he could in the heat and brushed away an errant spark that landed on his arm, setting his sleeve to smoldering. "There's no way we can put it out now! It's grown too big. We have to get the people out of there, then tear down the buildings around the lower town before it spreads across the entire city!"

Ash and soot stung his eyes. He swiped a grimy hand across his face to clear his vision. "Lancelot and Gwaine, take those men," he gestured a half of a group of guardsmen, "and start getting the people out of there. They're probably going to want to bring their things with them. Don't let them. It'll slow them down, and they'll die!" Elyan dragged a breath in. His lungs rebelled at first, but he forced himself to keep breathing in spite of the heat, convinced himself that it was no worse than a day in the forge.

"You lot!" Elyan turned to shout at the rest of the guards. "Find axes, sledgehammers, anything we can use to take these buildings down, make a gap the fire can't cross. Do it now!" They stared at him for a heartbeat, mouths agape before they shook themselves out of their stupor and ran toward the fire to do their duty for the people of Camelot.

"Elyan!" Percival shoved a pole into his hands. It took a beat for Elyan to figure out that it wasn't a random stick. It was a halberd, a weapon meant to pull men off horses or kill at a distance. But it was heavy, and it had a blade. The ramshackle houses of the lower town were weak enough that they wouldn't stand long in the face of such an assault. "Let's go!" Percival gestured with his own halberd toward a row of shacks.

Elyan nodded in response, burying his nose in his sleeve to keep the ashes out of his lungs as he dodged the townsfolk fleeing the fire. It was easy enough to keep Percival in sight. The big knight was hard to miss, even in the smoke shrouded darkness.

They stumbled through the murky streets, the guardsmen just behind them, directing refugees to go the way the knights had come from until they found a row of houses that might make a large enough gap that if the fire came any further, it might be slowed or even stopped by the break.

"Here!" Elyan staggered to a halt and waved for the others to start tearing down the walls. The houses were already deserted, though lights still shone in a few windows, revealing signs of abandoned domesticity. Meals in progress, mussed beds their owners had jumped out of without a second thought. Children's toys dropped by the side of a street. There was a dog still chained by one doorway. Its bark was shrill and panicked as it strained at the end of its lead, nearly choking itself in its frenzy. Elyan smashed the link that kept the dog from fleeing. It raced away without looking back.

Bile rose in the back of Elyan's throat as he glanced at the homes he was about to demolish. They were simple places, much like his own and Guinevere's had once been. Unassuming places for people who were just trying to get by, and here he was, set to destroy them.

'_Better a house than the city,' _he thought as he raised his halberd and smote the first wall, cursing god, fortune, and whatever ill-luck had brought them here.

* * *

Gwaine did his best to silence the misguided part of his mind that wanted to make a joke about how Lancelot looked like a bandit with that cloth tied over the lower half of his face to keep the soot and ash out of his mouth. This wasn't the time for humor, though, and notions of heroics would only be considered after the fact, assuming they died heroically, and not due to some clumsy misstep.

Gwaine pulled a woman's arm over his shoulder and swept her child up against his chest. It was a dozen fast paces to a cart filling up with people. He edged past a man arguing with the cart's driver about adding an overloaded trunk to the wagon and swung the child up into the back of it. Other people helped pull the woman up beside them, where she collapsed, clinging to her child and weeping. Gwaine turned away, ignoring the urge to stop and console her. There was no time for that. Not when hundred, if not thousands of lives were at stake.

"Gwaine!" Lancelot's voice came out the smoke, followed by the man himself. He was half-supporting a man larger than himself who was too busy trying to hack up his lungs to notice what was going on around him. Gwaine dashed over to them and drew the man's free arm around his shoulders before he pulled Lancelot to the ground, and together they half-dragged him to another wagon.

"Now what?" Lancelot shouted as they turned to face the chaos.

"You're asking me?" Gwaine yelled back.

All around them was chaos, people screaming, the fire's roar and cackle as it reached out to envelop more of the city. The shouts of guardsmen and knights as they tried to evacuate who they could and slow the fire where they could.

None of it was going to be enough. Not after a long, hot summer before the autumn rains had a chance to wet the wooden buildings down.

He covered his mouth and nose with a sleeve, wincing at the burning in his eyes and the sting of sweat in the scratches on his back.

The night wasn't supposed to have ended like this. He should have been back in his bed, with Linnet curled up in his arms while he stroked her hair. They would have been planning their future together if the damned bells hadn't started tolling; might have begun the second round of the night's pleasures. Except for the bells.

They were still ringing. He wished they would stop.

Gwaine shook himself out of his stupor. He held his hand up, away from his face to feel the wind's direction. It had shifted slightly. It was blowing toward them now. Through the smoke, he saw the flames start to move with the wind. The heat was growing unbearable.

"GET OUT!" He shouted as loudly as his chest and throat could manage, grabbing Lancelot's arm to yank him back the way they'd come.

Others on the street took up the cry, urging the stragglers to drop their things and just run. Gwaine thought he caught a glimpse of Percival lumbering away from the fire, but it was hard to say in the swirl of smoke and sparks.

A low groan rattled through Gwaine's head, the sound of wood straining to its limit. Then there was a crack, louder than thunder overhead, and a screeching wail like souls falling into hell. The fire shifted again as a building- a house, a tavern, an inn, Gwaine wasn't sure what- started to fall.

Gwaine shoved Lancelot away and managed three steps before he lost his footing on the cobblestones, staggering sideways into someone and dragging her down with him. He blinked when he hit the ground, saw a soot-smeared and panicked face beside him, and grabbed her arm. She was too shocked to resist when he pulled her back upright and scrabbled another dozen paces before he lost his footing again.

There was just enough time for him to cover the woman with his own body before the building collapsed with a sound like the gods' own fury.


	9. Chapter 9

The world was strangely quiet after the inn fell. Perhaps it was only because the screeching and groaning of protesting wood had stopped after the collapse, and the strength of the fire had been damped around them. Maybe it was just the shock of it all. Lancelot couldn't tell. His ears were ringing, his knees aching, and his shoulders stinging from where embers had burned through his shirt.

He shook his head and staggered up. A hand clamped around his arm. He fought it for a blind moment before he realized that Percival was just trying to pull him to his feet.

"Have you seen Gwaine?"

"What?" Lancelot blinked up at Percival, his rattled brain slow in catching on.

"Gwaine! I saw him just before the building fell, but I can't find him now."

Lancelot swiped at his eyes, but the action only seemed to push more grit into them. "He shoved me out of the way. I thought he was right behind me."

They looked back at the inn's smoldering remains. The fire that had consumed it was mostly out, leaving smaller tongues of flame behind to lick away at whatever was left behind. Smoke hung over the street, covering it and the knights with a fine layer of black and coating their throats with every breath until Lancelot was ready to choke. He coughed and spat, wiping at his watering eyes and running nose.

The wind had shifted again, pushing the fire away from them and toward the higher parts of the city and the citadel beyond.

Lancelot glanced upward as he stumbled after Percival, but smoke obscured the sky. Pity. It would have been nice to see if the gathering clouds were going to dump rain on them. Otherwise, the fire might burn for days, destroying the city and leaving thousands dead. But the only thing falling from the veiled sky was ash drifting downward like fine snow.

"There's someone under here!" Percival's frantic call brought Lancelot back to his senses. The big knight was tugging at a charred beam at the edge of the wrecked inn, his arms straining at the task. Lancelot stumbled over to him, finding a spade handle to jam underneath the beam to help lever the debris away. A woman's voice rose with panic.

Together they cleared away enough of the rubble to find what they were looking for: a woman trapped under both the wreckage and the still form of a man whose tangled hair obscured his face.

"You take her," Percival said. "I'll get him."

Lancelot dragged his gaze away from the man. The hair was the right length, the build just right. It could have been Gwaine. But he was so still…

He forced himself to focus on the woman. Her breathing was so shallow and rapid that Lancelot wondered if she was getting any air at all, and though her eyes were wide open, she didn't seem to see him. Her lips were moving like she was whispering the same prayer over and over again. He couldn't blame her for that. Similar pleas to the quiet heavens had been racing through his head since his first sight of the flames.

"M'lady?" Lancelot rested a hand on her shoulder. "M'lady, can you hear me?" She didn't answer. Whether she was injured or the shock had driven the reason out of her, it was clear the woman couldn't tell what was going on around her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and swept her up and out of the wreckage, picking his way through the debris until he was back on solid cobblestones. Percival followed him with the man hanging limply in his arms.

"Lancelot!"

He looked up blearily to find Leon racing toward him with a company of guards behind him. Lancelot kept walking until they reached him.

"Here. Let them worry about her," Leon said. "You look like you're about to fall over." He gestured for one of the guards to take the woman from Lancelot. "Get her back to the citadel. Gaius and the other healers are set up in the great hall. Take the most grievously wounded there and- Lance!"

Leon guided Lancelot down as his knees gave out. The jolt of bone against stone rattled his head and sent his vision swimming.

"Are you alright?" Leon asked.

"Maybe?" Lancelot answered. "If I could catch my breath…"

"In all this? Good luck." Leon almost smirked. He tilted Lancelot's head toward the light. "Looks like you face-planted in the street. Your eye's already turning black, and your cheek with it. It's going to be a while before the ladies are swooning over you again, but I don't think anything's broken."

Lancelot choked out a laugh, then sobered and glanced around. "Gwaine…?"

"Percival's got him." Leon nodded off to Lancelot's right and called out to the other knight, "How is he?"

"He's got a nasty burn on one arm and a cut on his head, but he's making as much sense as he normally does." Percival's grin flashed white in the gloom. "I think he'll be fine."

"'m already fine. Lemme up, you oaf." Gwaine planted a shaking hand against Percival's chest and tried to push him away, but the big knight refused to budge.

"Get him on his feet and send him on to the citadel," Leon said. "He's no good to us if he's ready to pass out every third step."

"I'll see to it," Percival said. He put an arm around Gwaine's shoulders and pulled the dizzied knight to his feet.

Leon turned back to Lancelot. "Got your breath back, then?"

Lancelot took a deep breath. His head wasn't spinning anymore, and he didn't feel like he was about to hack up a lung. "Yeah," he said. "I think I'll make it." He took the hand Leon offered, wincing at the ache in his knees.

"Good. The fire's still spreading, though I think it'll be contained by the city wall on the east end. The citadel's less likely to burn, but the stables and the market are all wood, and they'll burn as quickly as the buildings did here." Leon set off at a quick pace, forcing Lancelot to ignore his aches and pains if he wanted to keep up. "Arthur and the rest of the guard were headed toward the market and Ring Street when I saw them last".

"Why Ring Street?"

Leon looked surprised at the question. "That's where the coal stores are. Well, the next street over, anyway. If the fire gets there and ignites all that coal dust…" He shook his head, his expression grim. "They'll be able to hear the blast all the way to Nemeth."

"Are they going to water it all down, then?" Lancelot asked. He vaguely recalled Elyan saying something about the dangers of built-up coal dust, but it seemed like that had been in another lifetime. Something about it exploding, if he remembered it right.

Leon ran a hand through his hair, the sweat and ash molding it into grooves that made him look like a wildman. "Yes, but they'll need as much help as they can get. With that, and with the fire breaks," Leon said.

A contingent of a few dozen city guardsman rushed by. Their presence- their _energy-_ was somehow reassuring. One of them, probably their commander, stopped when he saw Leon. "Sir. Do you need anything?"

"Not right now. What are your orders?"

"The king sent us to help finish evacuating the lower town and create firebreaks where we can, wet down the surrounding buildings, and find survivors if they're there," the commander said. He looked strange without the armor the men of the guard normally wore but then, if they came too near the fire wearing chainmail, they'd be overwhelmed by the deadly heat.

Lancelot shuddered and pushed away the memories of Blackheath that rose, unbidden, in his mind. He'd seen enough deaths from fire last winter. He wasn't in a hurry to see more. "Sir Elyan was directing the forces making the firebreaks down there," Lancelot said. "If he's still there and you think it's clear enough, tell him to head toward Ring Street. He has experience with forges and keeping them from burning."

"Aye, sir," the guard said, giving them a curt nod before Leon gestured for him to go on his way.

They headed for the market as quickly as they could in the chaos, dodging guardsmen as they dispersed to fight the fire, or civilians as they rushed to save their possessions and head for safety. Wherever that was. Lancelot hadn't thought about where they would head. Outside the city to the river, perhaps, or into the citadel itself, with its solid stone walls and the catacombs below.

"Now would be a good time for that rain that was threatening earlier," Lancelot observed as they emerged from a narrow street into the market's open square and were greeted by the fire's dull red light. Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed to have grown until it was twice the height of the buildings it consumed.

"Do you think Merlin could make it rain?" Leon asked.

"I don't know. I don't know what sort of power that would take, or if Merlin can change the weather at all". Lancelot didn't know what the sorcerer's limits were. He had only ever seen him what Merlin called 'minor' magics, but it all seemed wondrous to Lancelot.

"Well, wishing won't make it rain or bring Merlin here," Leon said. "We have to keep going. Arthur needs us".


	10. Chapter 10

His city was burning.

Fire was a fact of life in any settlement, great or small, and the notion that a small cookfire could grow and spread out of control was a risk people lived with every day. Arthur knew that. He accepted it.

But his city was burning.

There hadn't been a fire like this in living memory, not even when the dragon had attacked. Then, the spring rains had kept the flames from spreading far, despite the fact that the beast returned every night for most of a week.

The past summer, though, had been long, hot, and dry, and the autumn rains had showed no signs of coming. So the fire, once ignited, spread quickly among the tottering wooden structures of the lower town, consuming everything it could find whether it was a house, a stable, or a shop.

Arthur tried not to think about how many of his people had died already, or how many might still be killed before they contained the blaze.

"You!" A grizzled old man shoved a bucket at Arthur, sending a bit of it splashing up into his face. "Take this, and get your ass up to the far side of Ring Street. There's one last coal repository to soak before the fire gets here. Get!" The man shooed him off down the street and turned away without a second glance.

"Yes, sir," Arthur said as he turned on a heel and set off. In the hours since the sound of the warning bells had taken him from Guinevere's arms and sent him into this inferno, the soot and sweat had obscured his identity. In the darkness, he wasn't a king. He was just another man. That much could be said for fire: it made men equal.

But his knights needed to find him quickly, so he splashed a bit of the water on his face and did his best to clear away the worst of the soot.

And it was just in time.

"Sire!" Bedivere's voice rang down the street, somehow louder than the rumbling flames and the cacophony of voices around them. The lanky knight cut through the rush of people and halted in front of Arthur. "Sir Leon's been looking for you. He and Lancelot got here, maybe half an hour ago. Leon said Gwaine was sent on to the citadel because of his wounds, Elyan was last seen in the lower town, and Percival just got here".

"Good. How much longer before the fire gets here?" Arthur handed the bucket off to someone edging by.

Bedivere glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. "It's hard to say. The wind's died down a bit, so that's helped keep it from spreading, but it'd only take an errant breeze or two to kick up the embers and start a secondary blaze somewhere else".

"And the food stores?" Arthur asked.

"The soldiers have been emptying the warehouses and taking everything to the citadel as you ordered, Sire, though the fire hasn't approached that part of the city yet." Bedivere swiped at the hair falling across his face. His mismatched eyes looked more crazed than normal. "The royal stables and kennels have been cleared, too. They took the animals outside the city to keep them from stampeding".

"And the people?"

"Some fled to the river with the animals. Many have taken shelter in the citadel, though some of the more civically minded nobles have opened their homes to refugees. Those with the worst wounds are being sent to the great hall. Gaius, Blaise, and any other available healer, midwife, or herbalist is there taking care of them".

"Good," Arthur said, then coughed. If he survived this, he'd be hacking up soot for weeks. "Guinevere's organizing things in the citadel. As long as everyone and everything gets up there, she'll have it all under control by dawn".

"Assuming the fire doesn't make it there first," Bedivere said. Arthur glared at him.

"Sire!" Leon's relieved smile was short-lived as he came to a halt in front of the king. "They say the wind's picked up again. The fire's picking up speed on its way here, and we still have one coal storehouse left. I wouldn't be too worried about it, except the blacksmiths say it's full of dust, and it's the dust that's dangerous. They say it'll explode if the fire gets there".

Arthur looked up the street to where a few dozen men were rushing about, dousing the buildings with buckets of water. Against the background of the encroaching fire, their efforts seemed almost useless. He closed his eyes and forced himself to keep calm. He couldn't give in to despair. "Then we'd better get moving".

Leon's mouth opened, closed, and opened again like he had something to say, but couldn't figure out how to put it into words.

"Spit it out, Leon. We don't have time to hesitate," Arthur ordered.

"It's just... " Leon glanced over his shoulder and sighed. "Merlin. Isn't there something he can do about this? Anything?"

Arthur swallowed against the dryness of his throat. He glanced up at the red glow in the sky, forcing his thoughts to return to the present. "He followed me here, but I haven't seen him for a while. He was…" Arthur's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what he was doing. Sending the wind back down the street, creating water. I don't know. I'm surprised he's even down here at all, with all he's been through".

"If he could make it rain…" Leon said.

"I don't know if even Merlin can do much against this," Arthur said. "But we have to keep fighting it, no matter what Merlin ends up doing. We've got to take care of that warehouse before the fire gets there. Bedivere, head back up the street and make sure all the water is being directed toward the coal storage and the forges. And if you find Merlin… look after him". Bedivere nodded and headed up the street as fast as he could. "Leon, you're with me".

Leon grabbed Arthur's arm before he made it three steps down the street. "Arthur! You can't go that way! Not _toward_ the fire. You could be killed!"

"It's no different from battle, Leon. The people need their king. They need to see that I'm willing to fight for them, to risk my life for them." Arthur pulled his arm from Leon's grasp. "Stay behind, if you want. I won't blame you for it. But I'm going".

Leon heaved an exasperated sigh that ended in a hacking cough. "Where you go, Sire, I'm bound to follow".

"That's the spirit". Arthur clapped the knight on the shoulder and offered him a wry, short-lived smile. "We swore to protect Camelot against all her enemies. This fire is just another enemy to fight. It's another battle we're going to win. Do you believe me?"

"Yes." Leon swallowed hard. His jaw clenched. "Yes, I do".

"Then let's go," Arthur said. "We've got work to do".


	11. Chapter 11

Last winter, after Merlin's recovery had become a certain thing, Arthur and Lancelot had told him what happened at Blackheath. They said he had brought such a devastating fire down upon the courtyard that the Amatan army had put up next to no resistance when the Camelot's knights stormed the gates. They said a fog had lain over the castle for days, and that the older soldiers were convinced that it had been dragonfire, for no other flame could burn stone in such a way.

Merlin remembered nothing of that. His last memory of that fateful day had been of fire rising around him. Ordinary fire, though it had been enough to burn its way through his nightmares, even up to this very night, when a dream of flames had chased him out of his bed and into the castle's winding corridors. Into Niniane's arms.

He couldn't help but wonder if that nightmare had been an echo of that awful winter day, or if it had been prophetic. But whichever one it was didn't matter. The answer wouldn't keep his mind from screaming, _'Don't Look Don't Look Don't Look!", _even as he fought to weave currents of air around the city to direct the fire and force it back upon itself in the vain hope that it would run out of fuel and die.

But fire was a feral thing, voracious and ever hungry. Trying to contain it was like herding a nest of vipers hissing and spitting every which way. Its ways and paths were as twisted as a dragon's promises, and just as devastating to whoever ended up on the wrong side.

And his attempts to change wind and weather felt like they were utterly useless, like he was trying to build a mountain by collecting sand with his hands. A futile exercise. He might as well have been yelling at the fire to make it stop.

Perhaps if his heart didn't feel like it was about to burst, he might be making a difference. But he had to keep trying. He wouldn't be able to face Arthur if he didn't.

"Merlin!"

Hands locked onto his shoulders. It took a moment for Merlin to focus and see Lancelot's face instead of the fire. Even then the knight was haloed by flame, as though he was some avenging angel from the stories told by the White Christ's priests. All he needed was a flaming sword. Or an enchanted lance. The thought of it drove an hysteric giggle from Merlin's throat.

"Are you alright?" Lancelot's were wide. He looked scared.

"I'm try-" Merlin's voice broke. He tried again. "I'm trying".

"Trying to do what?"

"The fire…" Merlin whispered. "I'm trying to stop it". Lancelot gave him a hard look, and Merlin wondered if the knight had even heard him. It was so, so loud…

"_Can _you do anything?"

Hadn't he just said that? That he was trying?

And failing…

"Lancelot!" Percival's voice rang over the noise of the fire and men shouting. "Leon's looking for you" He was looming suddenly over Lancelot's shoulder, glancing back and forth between Merlin and the knight. "Everything all right? Merlin?"

Merlin's gaze slid off Percival and landed on the skyward stretching flames. His vision swam. The air felt thick, like he was trying to breathe water. The knights seemed far, far away….

Everything was quiet…

_There was a burst of light and a noise like thunder then, if the loudest thunder could gather itself into a single moment's blast to deafen all ears and rattle the stones beneath their feet. He saw the silhouettes of buildings the instant before they flew apart, filling the air with makeshift knives that shredded the last men who were still standing, as though the fire needed yet another weapon to destroy more lives. _

_The light went out. The world fell into darkness, leaving behind the afterimage of one figure glowing against the night. He knew without seeing the man's face that it was Arthur._

_He knew Arthur was being torn apart._

_Arthur was falling… _

Merlin sputtered, choking on air as he fought the hands that held him. His knees gave out. His vision went black. Sound returned, muffled, like he was hearing speech while underwater.

"What is it? Merlin?"

"Arthur…." he breathed, his sight and sense returning as though the name of his king was a spell of healing. "Arthur!" He staggered to his feet and managed another few steps before the hands pulled him to a halt.

"What's wrong?" Lancelot shouted. "Merlin? What is it? What's going to happen?"

He stared back at the knight, unable to give voice to his vision. How did one describe the end of the world? "Arthur…."

Lancelot shook his head and looked up at Percival. "Go find Arthur! Clear the men out of wherever he is. And get him out of there, too! Carry him if you have to!"

"Right!" Percival dashed away, shoving men aside to clear himself a path through the narrow street before he disappeared around a corner.

Merlin shivered, then shoved his pains aside as best he could. He let his awareness fall onto one step, then another, ignoring Lancelot's questions until he'd made it to the corner. He sagged against the wall.

Embers were falling on the far end of the street, thrown into the air by the fire's strength and left to fall where they willed to smolder or burst into flames as chance allowed. Merlin focused on the air in the street, moving it breath by breath until he'd built it into a breeze, adding to that again until a stream of wind blew down the street and back toward the fire. He couldn't stop what was going to happen, but perhaps…

The world exploded.


	12. Chapter 12

There wasn't much in the world that scared Percival. It was one of the advantages of being a man of his size and standing.

But that look on Merlin's face had scared the wits right out of him. A look said that Merlin had seen either Arthur's death or the end of the world. Which, to the sorcerer, were probably one and the same.

So Percival ran as fast as his legs could carry him, barreling along the narrow streets and yelling for everyone to get out. He didn't know if they listened, or even if they could understand him. There was only room for one thought in his head: '_Find Arthur'._

It wasn't easy to find someone in the darkened passages, where the only light came from the fire above and the few shafts of moonlight that managed to break through the smoke. Sparks and embers fell all around, most of them dying when they hit the ground, flaring brightly for a moment before going out.

Percival stopped to catch his breath. "You there!" he shouted at someone who looked official under all the soot. "Where's Arthur?"

"Down that way, toward the coal stores". The man gestured to the end of the street where a flurry of movement was just visible in the shadows. "He's helping the men wet it all down, but it won't be long before the fire gets there. Maybe half an hour".

"We have less time than that. They all have to get out of there now. Come with me!" Percival grabbed the man's arm and started to pull him along.

"How do you know? Is the wind shifting?" The man dug in his heels like a damn mule and brought them both to a halt.

"Merlin said so. That's good enough for me. Now let's go! Help me get those men out of there! Help me find the king!" Percival shoved the man forward, following his lead as they wound through the mess of people moving through the streets, dodging a wagon here, and a panicking horse over there until they reached the intersection where the path broadened.

Percival started grabbing arms, turning them about to see their faces, then half-throwing them up the street when they turned out not to be Arthur. The man he had dragged along disappeared into the mess of people, but perhaps he was spreading the word. The crowd was beginning to thin.

"Arthur!"

"He's down there!" a bright eyed boy shouted, pointed to the corner of a building where a swarm of men was still dumping buckets of water on the walls.

"Good lad. Now get!" He patted the boy on the shoulder and pushed him back up the street.

Arthur was easier to find once Percival reached the coal warehouse. It was hard to miss him, actually, seeing as how he was in the middle of things, directing the men who were working to save the building. Just like he did on the battlefield.

Percival shouldered through the crowd and grabbed Arthur's arm. Improper, yes, but right now he wasn't worried about decorum.

"What?" Arthur shouted at him.

"We've got to get everyone out of here!" Percival shouted back.

"What? Why? We've almost saved the building!"

"Forget the building! Merlin had some kind of vision. We've got to go now!" Percival kept his grip on Arthur's arm and started ushering him away.

"What did he see?"

"I don't know," Percival said. "But it was bad, whatever it was".

That was enough for Arthur. He glanced back at the building, then drew in a breath and called out with a voice loud enough to carry over the chaos. "RETREAT!"

The order was echoed by half a dozen voices, but Percival didn't stop to watch. Arthur was in danger here, and it was his duty to keep the king safe. He kept moving, his fingers locked in a death grip around Arthur's arm. They would probably leave bruises in the morning, but he'd worry about that later.

There was a low rumbling from behind them, like thunder, except the flash happened after the sound. Percival risked a glance back. A gout of flame reached high into the night, sending embers soaring into the air to spread even further across the city.

Dozens of them fell onto the coal warehouse. There was a burst of light and a rushing like a great wind. In the moments he had left, Percival wrapped his arms around Arthur and spun him about to shield his king from the blast.

Then a wave of heat and noise and pain drove them down into darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't so much a battle of wills that Lancelot was engaged in as it was a contest of strength, and the only reason he was winning was because he outweighed Merlin. It took everything Lancelot had to keep Merlin from getting up and running toward the fire. Toward Arthur.

Debris and embers still fell from the sky. New, smaller fires were springing up all around them. The men were slowly regaining their feet. Lancelot could see their lips moving like they were shouting to each other, but the sound was muffled, like he was underwater or half in a dream.

Merlin jerked away, slipping out of Lancelot's grasp to lurch forward a few paces before falling again. Merlin's knees hit the cobblestones, one hand on the ground to support himself, the other rising to shield his eyes from the fire's light.

Lancelot stumbled over and put himself between the sorcerer and the fire. Merlin had seen enough of it by now, and if the fear Lancelot had seen in his eyes was any sign, then it would not take much more for Merlin to break altogether. And God help them all if that happened.

"Merlin?"

Merlin closed his eyes. His left hand stretched skyward. The fingers of his other hand stretched wide over the stones, his lips moving in a litany of words Lancelot would not have understood even if he could have heard them.

A pale light illuminated the stones, bleeding upward into Merlin's hand, tracing the veins of his arm and marbling his flesh with a radiance that spread throughout his body, into his face, and up into the fingers that reached for the stars. Merlin opened his eyes.

When it manifested in a sorcerer's eyes, the light of magic flashed for a moment, then died away. That was how Lancelot had always seen it happen before. But the light wasn't fading from Merlin's eyes. The golden glow held steady, growing stronger perhaps, shining like the first rays of dawn after a long night.

"Merlin?"

The sorcerer didn't seem to hear him. Lancelot was afraid to touch him, lest the contact startle him out of whatever spell he was casting and hurt him. Lancelot had seen it happen to Merlin before. He didn't want it to happen again. Merlin's words kept rolling, on and on and on. Lancelot thought they would never end. He looked toward the sky.

A raindrop fell in his face. Then another. He glanced around at the street, then back toward the fire. Rain was falling on them, on the fire, and probably all across the city. The cries of panic and pain were turning to calls of delight. The smaller flames were already subsiding; clouds of mist mixed with the smoke in the air before the rain dispelled it all, soaking the city and saving it all at once.

Lancelot laughed and looked up again, letting the water run down his face and drench his smoky clothes. "You did it, Merlin!"

Merlin didn't answer, didn't move. It was only then that Lancelot realized the sorcerer was still casting, the words rolling on like and endless river. His eyes still glowed with power. It took a moment for Lancelot to see that it wasn't tears that were running down Merlin's face but blood, pouring from his nose and trickling from his eyes.

"Merlin!" Lancelot grabbed Merlin's shoulders and shook him, trying to break him out of his casting before the power overwhelmed him. The sorcerer's expression was somewhere between ecstasy and terror, his gaze fixed… elsewhere. Lancelot shuddered to think what Merlin might be seeing just then.

He moved his hands from Merlin's shoulders to his face, tilting Merlin's head so the golden stare was at least in Lancelot's direction. "Merlin! Stop! You've done what you needed to do. The city is safe. Can you hear me, Merlin? Camelot is safe again!"

Merlin's lips stopped moving. He gasped. The light went out in his eyes and faded from under his skin, crawling away the same way it had come until there was nothing left except for fragile, mortal Merlin. Shaking, the sorcerer crumpled against Lancelot. "It's done," Merlin whispered, his voice barely audible above the hiss off the rain, "They're safe. They're safe..."

"But what about you?" Lancelot asked. He looked down at Merlin, but the sorcerer was too far gone to answer.

'_Someday, we're going to lose him to this magic...' _

"Come on, then. Let's get you out of here," Lancelot said, more for himself than anything. He needed a plan to get them out of the rain and out of the way. The narrow street was filling up with people again, some going down the street to where Arthur was, others heading back up toward the citadel.

"Lancelot!" He looked up at the sound of his name and found Gareth looking down at him. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live". Lancelot smiled. It pulled at the bruises on his face. He winced. "I hurt, but I'll live".

"How is he?" Gareth knelt and put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. The sorcerer's eyes were open and blinking owlishly, but he was strangely still. Lancelot wondered if he even knew they were there.

"He's dead on his feet. He's the one who made it rain along with everything else he was probably doing, but it exhausted him. Maybe more than that," Lancelot said.

"Let's get him up and out of the wet, then. I think Arthur would have my head if I let anything happen to him". Gareth grinned and swiped at the water dripping into his eyes.

"Have you seen him, then?" Lancelot asked. "Have you seen Arthur?" Merlin roused at the mention of Arthur's name. His bleary gaze latched onto Gareth, its unfocused intensity made even more unnerving by the blood trickling from his eyes and the fine rim of gold surrounding his irises.

"F-from a distance," Garth said, taking an involuntary step back. Lancelot couldn't blame him. If he hadn't been supporting Merlin's weight, he might have moved away, too. "He and Percival are being taken to the citadel right now. I couldn't tell how they were. I was too far away".

Merlin's eyes flared gold again, then closed. His head bowed, and his breathing stopped.

"Merlin?" Lancelot pressed a shaking hand to the sorcerer's throat. The pulse he found there was steady, if slow. His shoulders sagged with relief. "What are you doing, Merlin?"

For a long moment he and Gareth held their breaths, an island of stillness amongst the chaos around them. No one ran into them or tripped over knight, squire, or sorcerer, as though some kind of force kept the men from even noticing they were there.

"Merlin?" Lancelot's voice was just above a whisper. He doubted anyone could have heard it. Gareth leaned in, half covering Merlin with his own body to keep the rain away.

"What's he doing?"

"I don't know," Lancelot said. The ways of magic were beyond his feeble comprehension.

At last, Merlin shuddered and gasped for breath, his shoulders heaving like he'd run a hundred miles. He opened his eyes. The whites had turned crimson with blood, though his gaze was focused enough when he looked up at Lancelot. "They're alive," he whispered. "They're alive".

"Thank God," Lancelot said. He looked up into the rain and smiled. "Rest, then. You've done enough for tonight." Merlin nodded his head and sagged against Lancelot. His eyes stayed open, though, and when the knight moved to pull one of Merlin's arms around his shoulder, the sorcerer tried to help, if feebly.

"Here, let me help," Gareth said. He took Merlin's other arm, and together they got the sorcerer back on his feet, half-carrying and half-dragging him away from the darkness of the rain soaked streets and back to the warm lights of the citadel.


	14. Chapter 14

_There was a place beyond fear that he found sometimes, when events were dire. When it seemed like the world would end. A place of pure light and power that was somehow steeped in darkness and emptiness, where everything both was and was not. Merlin could never tell if it was within him, or outside of the world itself, but it was there and it filled him with such strength that he felt like he would fly apart. Disintegrate into the everythingness/nothingness._

_In another time, another place, he might have let himself fall into it. Let himself go, and let the world take care of itself. _

_A single thought held him back, though, kept him from reaching too far, taking too much in. _

Arthur.

_His king still needed him to defend him against… against… _

Merlin's knees hit solid stone. He took a breath. The air was thick with smoke.

_That was it. Camelot was burning, and Arthur and everyone was in danger, and Merlin could stop it. Had to stop it. _

_Because Arthur was going to die if he didn't._

_He reached for that place within/without and let if fill him. With power, with light, with everything and nothing until he could bend the world to his will, move forces that didn't want to move, alter the winds and weave the clouds together until they were too heavy with rain to do anything but let it fall_

_The skies opened, the rain fell, and the fire could do nothing but hiss in protest as it slowly died all across the city. Merlin saw it. He tried to let go of the power, but he couldn't. Like a storm that sweeps a helpless bird into the raging skies, he couldn't find a way out of it. Couldn't fight his way free. _

"Merlin!"

_He caught hold of the voice behind his name, used the words to pull him back to sanity, away from the light and the void until he was nothing more than fragile, mortal Merlin, shivering and on his knees. _

Merlin gasped as he let go of it all, and the void fell away from him, leaving remnants of its power behind to race along his bones and set his nerves afire, as though he were filled to the brim with lightning.

"It's done," he heard himself say. "They're safe. They're safe". Though who it was that was safe was a question he didn't have an answer for.

He heard voices around him. Familiar voices, though he couldn't put a name to them. He tried to place them, but it was an effort that was beyond him.

"...Arthur will…"

'_Arthur will what?'_ Merlin summoned the strength to look up at the voice that had said Arthur's name, trying to sort out who it was, and what they were saying, and what it all meant.

_There were no answers there, though, so he went looking for his own, letting his awareness slide away from his aching body to flow through the streets in search of them. _

_He found them soon enough. Arthur, injured and unconscious and surrounded by men bearing him back to the citadel. He shone, but not as brightly and he should have been. Behind him, Percival's light was dim. Others were fading all around Camelot. _

_That wouldn't do. The lights were Arthur's people, and he loved them. He would be devastated if so many of them faded to nothing. _

_Merlin let the excess power flow away from him. To Arthur, to Percival, to the other lights that were so close to going out. It felt like tiny drops falling into enormous buckets. But it spread, and it worked, and he let it all go until the power was gone, and the lights stayed lit. _

"Merlin?"

He came back into himself and gasped for air. There was blood in his mouth and rain on his lips. He looked up at Lancelot. "They're alive," he whispered. "They're alive".

Whatever the knight had to say after that, Merlin didn't hear. He had strength enough to stay awake, but even that was failing. And then he was on his feet and they were walking, and the pattern of left-foot-right-foot was too much for his addled brain to comprehend.

The last thing he remembered was dry air and warm candlelight.


	15. Chapter 15

It was a hushed conversation that woke Arthur. Low, urgent voices discussing something he couldn't quite catch the gist of. He turned his head toward them and forced his eyes open. There was enough light in the room to sharpen the ache in his head. He winced, tried to raise an arm to rub his eyes, and groaned when the movement sent a spike of pain through his shoulder.

The voices stopped. Two faces came into view- Guinevere and Leon.

"You're awake!" Guinevere's smile was full of relief as she sat down on the bed next to him and rested her hand against his forehead. "Don't try to move. You got a good knock on the head and tried to put your shoulder out of joint. Gaius says you'll be alright, but you won't be swinging a sword for a while".

"I'll try not to". Arthur caught Guinevere's hand with his good one. He glanced around their chambers and found them to be in their proper order. Mostly. The desk and table were cluttered with a mess of papers and dishes, but given what had happened over the past- hours? days?- he wasn't surprised. "What happened?"

"There was a fire," Leon began.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know that. I didn't get _all_ the sense knocked out of me".

A smile cracked across Leon's careworn face. He looked like he hadn't slept for days. "The coal warehouse exploded before we could wet it down all the way. It destroyed a couple of the smaller buildings next to it and helped spread the fire down Ring Street". The knight ran a hand through his hair- it was wet, Arthur noticed- and pulled a chair over to the bedside. "Four men, we think, were killed when the building went up. Percival shielded you from the blast". He sank into the chair. A tense line carved itself across his brow. "More than shielded you, actually. He saved your life".

Arthur frowned. He had a vague memory of Percival appearing out of the smoke, but nothing after that. Leon's expression didn't inspire confidence. "How is he?"

"Gaius pulled a chunk of wood out of his back and stitched him up," Leon said. "He lost a lot of blood. He hadn't woken up, last I heard. But Gaius says he'll make a full recovery if the wound doesn't get infected".

"The others will be all right, too," Guinevere said. "Elyan has a few cuts, Lancelot has some nasty bruises on his face, and Gwaine hit his head while saving a woman. He's been talking a bit of gibberish ever since, but Blaise assures me he'll be fine if he gets some rest."

Arthur smiled faintly. "So Gwaine is acting like his normal self, then? Half of what he says on a good day is gibberish". He looked past Guinevere to catch a glimpse beyond the window, but the curtains were drawn. "How is the city? Is the fire still burning? Do we know how many died?"

Guinevere squeezed his hand, then got up to sweep the curtains aside. Outside, a blanket of clouds covered most of the sky, though a light from the west loaned the buildings a golden glow through the mist that hid the damage from him. "The fire is out. There are a few hot spots here and there, but the city guard is taking care of them. No new fires have been reported. I'm sure the mist is helping with that".

"That was a well-timed rain storm," Arthur said. He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing when he came across a bruise and a crust of something that was likely dried blood and ash. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, and probably would for days.

"We can thank Merlin for that," Leon said. "He's the one who made it rain. I didn't even know he could do something like that. It poured until dawn, then eased once the sun came up. It's just been misting ever since. Keeps the buildings wet, but it hasn't stopped us from starting to clear the debris".

"Gaius once told me that Merlin's the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived". Arthur ignored the wide-eyed look that popped onto Leon's face at that and glanced around, searching the dark corners for the sorcerer. "Where is he, anyway? And you haven't told me how many were killed."

"Fifty-three that we know of," Guinevere said. She came back to the bedside with a cup of something in her hand. Probably one of Gaius's foul-tasting concoctions.

"The number will likely rise once we've finished clearing the rubble out of the lower town," Leon added. "It spread so quickly, and those streets were so narrow. I'm surprised there aren't more already. Dozens are still missing".

Arthur melted against the pillows and squeezed his eyes shut. Fifty-three of his people were dead, and the number was likely to rise. Guinevere took his hand.

"Gaius told me a strange thing, though," she said. "He was working on a dying patient, a girl who'd breathed too much of the smoke. Just after the rain started he said he felt… something. He couldn't quite put it into words, but he said it felt like a fresh breeze. And suddenly the girl could breathe again. She's going to be all right. Blaise reported the same thing, that several of his dying patients took an unexpected turn for the better".

"What did Merlin say? Did he have something to do with it?" Arthur asked.

"I'd put money on it," Leon said. "But we don't know for sure. He collapsed shortly after Lancelot and Gareth got him inside. Last I'd heard, he was still unconscious".

Arthur frowned and looked at each of them, trying to gauge whether it was dread on their faces or merely exhaustion. He couldn't tell which it was. "Is he going to be all right?"

"I think so," Guinevere said. "Gaius didn't seem too worried when I spoke with him. Maybe he was trying to downplay how concerned he was, but I doubt it. We'll just have to wait and see".

"I don't like waiting," Arthur grumbled.

That put a real smile on Guinevere's face. "I know, but you're just going to have to deal with it. Patience is a virtue, after all". She held up the cup and speared Arthur with an imperious look. "Now. You need to drink this. It will help with the pain you're trying to hide".

"I'll live. I need to be awake now. I need to know what's going on," Arthur protested. 

"I knew you'd say that," Guinevere said. "So I had Gaius mix something that wouldn't put you to sleep. He said it would take the edge off".

"It'll probably take my tastebuds off, too". Arthur glared at the cup, but couldn't match it against the look on Guinevere's face. Tyrants would be cowed by the sternness in her eyes. "Fine, then," he sighed. "Give me the foul thing".

It tasted as horrid as he thought it would, like it was made with essence of rotting leaves and chickens' feet. For a moment Arthur feared it might come right back up. Then Guinevere gave him some water to wash it all down, and after a while the pain in his shoulder and head started to wane.

"Better?" Guinevere asked.

"Getting there," Arthur said.

"Good," Guinevere said. She started to say something else, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in."

Niniane didn't have to open the door terribly far to slip into the room. Her pale face was drawn, and a sooty smudge marred one cheek. But she smiled when she saw Arthur, bobbing a curtsey before she approached. "Majesties. Gaius sent me to check on you and find out if you needed anything".

"I'm fine," Arthur declared before either Guinevere or Leon could say otherwise. "And no, I don't need anything".

"Very well," she said. She gave Guinevere a sealed vial containing a pale gold liquid. "He told me to bring you this in case you needed something to help you sleep, and to tell you that you're not to be on your feet until tomorrow morning at the earliest. Those are Gaius's words, not mine". She bit her lip and looked down at the floor as though she'd done something wrong.

Arthur smirked. He had received too many such admonitions from the old physician to be offended by one now, even if it was secondhand. Besides, he found it difficult to be angry at pretty girls, and Niniane was lovely, even with rumpled clothes and her hair pulled back in a frazzled knot. Match such beauty with her magic, and it was no wonder Merlin was so taken with her. "If Gaius sent you, I'm assuming you know how everyone's doing?"

"Yes, Sire," Niniane said. "Gwaine's doing much better now. He's not so dizzy and his headache is abating. Linnet hasn't left his side." She threw Guinevere a knowing glance, and Guinevere smiled in return. "Percival woke for a while earlier. He was tired and a little confused, but once we got some water into him, Gaius wasn't terribly concerned".

"And Merlin?"

"He overextended himself when he summoned the storm. But such a thing is so far beyond the abilities of anyone I've ever heard of…" Niniane trailed off and shook her head. "Perhaps a full circle of us working as one could do it, but not one person alone".

"Will he be all right?" Guinevere asked.

"In time, and with rest, yes".

Leon scoffed. "You'll have to drug him to keep him still for long".

"I don't think it will come to that," Niniane said. "He will sleep until he doesn't need to sleep anymore and then, if he isn't overtaxed again, he'll recover within a few days".

Arthur sighed and sank back against the pillows again. He was struck by two emotions just then- relief and guilt. Relief from knowing that his friends would be all right, and guilt from the knowledge that so many of his people hadn't been so lucky. Many of them had lost everything.

And they would look to their king to make things right again. He had a lot of work to do.

"Thank you, Niniane," he said. "You can go now. I'm sure Gaius needs your help in all of this. You must have a lot of patients to see to". He wondered if she understood the subtext, that he was dismissing her so she could go back to Merlin's side.

By the faint blush that crept onto her cheeks, he was certain that she did understand. "Yes, Sire. Thank you. My Lady". She bowed her head to Guinevere.

"Good night, Niniane".

The girl's steps were quick and quiet as she left. The door hardly made a sound as she closed it behind her.

Leon broke the stillness first. "There was a rumor, you know, that she started the fire. Pynell's lackeys, of course".

Arthur rubbed his eyes. "That doesn't surprise me. Has it spread very far?"

"No," Guinevere said. "There are several sets of guards who saw her and Merlin together in the citadel before the fire broke out."

_Together_. Arthur liked the sound of that. "Good. I've had enough of unsubstantiated rumors spreading about. We all need to work together now, not spend our days chasing whispers. Do we know where or how it actually started?"

Guinevere shook her head and brushed at her skirts. "There are half a dozen stories making the rounds. Who knows if we'll ever know which of them is the right one, if any. Some say it started in a bakery and was an accident, others swear it began when a jealous lover threw a lantern through a rival's window. Some say sorcery, others say it was a spy from Rheged". Guinevere waved a hand like she was throwing that idea out the window.

"Personally," she went on, "I think it was an accident. It was so dry this summer, and those parts of the lower town were so cramped and crowded. Any little spark could have started it, and with all those wooden buildings it got out of control too quickly for anyone to deal with."

"She's probably right," Leon said. "Someone could have knocked a lantern over or dropped a torch into some hay. Perhaps we can talk to Merlin when he's back on his feet and see if there's a way that he can reconstruct the events."

"Perhaps," Arthur said. He wasn't sure he was willing to order Merlin to relive any part of it all. "Keep investigating. If the truth can be uncovered, then dig as far as you need to". He refrained from kneading his temples. His headache was coming back, and he didn't want Guinevere to notice it. She would make him drink Gaius's sleeping potion, and there was too much work to be done to let that happen.

"Right, then," he said. "We need to figure out how many have been left homeless by all this and see about getting some kind of housing set up for them. Winter isn't that far away, and they'll need shelter before then…"


	16. Chapter 16

The sound of coughing woke Merlin. He was hard-pressed to tell whose it was until he pried his eyes open and blinked his vision clear, a task that took far longer than it should have. The gritty feeling under his eyelids made his eyes water and blurred his vision until he reached up with an aching hand and rubbed the roughness away.

It took far too long to focus on the other person in the room, but eventually the blur coalesced into Gaius, puttering about and straightening things up. And coughing.

"Are you alright?" Merlin rasped. His voice sounded like he'd eaten half a river bed's worth of sand and neglected to drink any of the water.

Gaius turned, startled, then chuckled. "That's a fine thing for you to be asking me". He crossed the narrow space from window to bedside and sat down in the chair by Merlin's bed. "How are you feeling?"

Merlin swallowed back the film on his tongue and rolled his shoulders, taking stock of all the little miseries his overuse of magic had visited upon him. "Like a month's worth of bad hangovers". He uncurled a little to roll onto his back. The slight movement set the room to spinning one way and his stomach the other. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to ward off the nausea.

Gaius's chair squeaked, there were retreating footsteps, and the door rattled. Merlin sensed he was alone, save for a few other sparks in the next room. He tried not to let his magic pick out who it was, but it was instinct by now and hard to stop, despite the fact it made his head ache even more. Then Gaius came back.

"Merlin?" He rested a warm hand against Merlin's forehead. "Drink this," he said and swirled a cup of something under Merlin's nose. "It's just water with a bit of meadowsweet. It should help with the pain".

"Can we just skip to the Tears of the Poppy and call it good?" Merlin cracked an eye open and gave the cup a skeptical glance.

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him. "I think not. You had quite enough of that last winter. I don't know how the poppy would react with your present condition, and I'd rather not have your heart stop because you wanted to sleep".

"I wouldn't mind it so much," Merlin grumbled, but he took the cup anyway. His hands only shook a little as he sipped. The water was hot enough to clear the film from his mouth and throat. The taste of meadowsweet was familiar enough that he barely noticed it.

"The rest of us would mind," Gaius scolded.

Merlin shot him a wry glance. "The rest of you don't have this headache."

"It looks like your vaunted sense of optimism has returned, then, along with your color," Gaius huffed. "At least your temperature is back to normal. I really don't know what else to do with you aside from tell you to get some rest. And exhort you not to do something like that again".

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I'm in the middle of a burning city. Here," Merlin said and handed the cup back to Gaius. "If I drink any more of that, it's going to come right back up". He sank against the pillows, closed his eyes, and tried to calm the roiling in his stomach and the whirling of his thoughts. Neither stopped. He sighed.

"What is it?" Gaius asked.

Merlin stared up at the ceiling. "I shouldn't have waited so long".

"Waited so long for what?" Gaius's chair creaked as he shifted in it. The wooden feet scraped softly against the floor.

"The rain. I should have summoned the rain earlier instead of trying to channel the winds. It seemed like an easier solution, to make it feed back onto itself. The fire, I mean. The wind was already blowing, I just had to nudge its course a little. It feels like it should have worked, but it didn't, did it? Why didn't I make it rain earlier? So many people died. Fewer of them would have been hurt if I'd just acted sooner. Why didn't I?" Merlin was babbling and he knew it, but once released, the words wouldn't stop. His heart was racing, too, the sound of it drowning out everything else.

"Merlin". Gaius's voice seemed far away at first. "Merlin. It's all right. You're safe". He put a hand on the sorcerer's shoulder to ground him, then waited, providing the same assurances that had pulled him out of worse attacks than this.

At last, Merlin took a long, shaky breath and ran a trembling hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I thought that kind of thing was behind me".

"It's alright, Merlin. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Our pasts are never easily forgotten," Gaius said. He pulled the blankets back up to Merlin's chest, then sat back in his chair. "Don't fall into that nonsense thinking that you could have done more. You did what you did _when_ you could do it. Changing the weather is beyond the skills of any three sorcerers combined, and it was nearly the death of you. So don't go thinking that you could have done more. Rumors of what you did to stop the fire have already spread across Camelot, and most are grateful that you did it, regardless of when it happened".

Merlin raised an eyebrow. It was all the skepticism he could summon. "Most?"

Gaius waved a hand dismissively and coughed. "Well, men like Pynell will never appreciate you or what you've done, but they're in the minority these days".

"If only he wasn't so vocal about his disdain, I'd be able to sleep better at night". Merlin slumped against his pillows and forced himself to think about something other than Lord Pynell. He felt lousy enough without adding that that particular thorn in his side to his current troubles. "Why are you coughing?"

Gaius pinned him with a look that clearly said, _'are you daft, boy?'_. "There's a lot of smoke in the air, Merlin, despite the rain. I'm not a young man anymore. I don't recover from these things as quickly as you do".

"And yet I'm the bed-ridden one," Merlin smirked.

"Yes, you are, and for a good reason. And the sooner you go back to sleep and get some rest, the sooner you'll be able to return to your duties and be out of my hair. Honestly, Merlin, I don't know why you haven't moved into chambers closer to the royal wing. I'm sure Guinevere would help you find something". Gaius fussed with the blankets for a moment or three, then stood to go. "Now get some rest, or I'll bring you the worst tasting sleeping potion I can come up with".

Merlin gave him a weak smile. "And how do you plan to get me to drink it?"

"I think I can help with that".

Both men looked up to find Niniane leaning against the doorway like she'd been there for a while, just watching. Her demure smile brightened when she met Merlin's gaze. _'How are you feeling, Emrys?' _Her voice in his mind was close to exhaustion, rattled by things she was trying not to think about, and delighted that he was awake and aware.

'_Better than I was'. _He hoped the same delight was mirrored in his own thoughts, minus the larger portion of the pain and fatigue that was trying to drag him back into sleep. "Gaius, do you mind…?"

The old healer raised an eyebrow again, unimpressed by their youthful charms. He got to his feet and straightened his robe, shaking his head as though to say, 'Young love. What can you do?'. "I'd tell you not to stay up too late, but given that you're both about to fall asleep, I don't think that's going to be a problem" He brushed past Niniane as they crossed paths, pausing before he closed the door. "Just keep your voices down. Percival and Lancelot are both asleep out here, and neither of them needs to be disturbed".

Niniane chuckled as the door clicked shut. She sank into the bedside chair and took the hand Merlin offered her. _'Do you think we can be quiet enough to suit him?'_

'_I think we can,'_ Merlin returned.

They stayed like that for a while, still and silent. The only sound was the pattering of rain against the window, the only movement the soft, slow dance of candlelight shifting along the walls. Then Niniane laughed and looked away.

"Well," Merlin said.

"Well," Niniane agreed. "That wasn't how I expected that night to end".

"Nor I. What were you hoping for?"

She glanced away demurely, but her gaze was steady and deep when she looked back at him. _'Something… more'. _Her thoughts were edged with moonlight and forest glens, and with imaginings of a union deeper and more passionate than a mere kiss in an abandoned hallway.

He let the images linger for a moment, then blinked them away.

'_Is that your way of saying that you don't want the same?' _Niniane asked.

Merlin drew her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. _'No, it's not that. I just… I don't live in the moment the way you do. I live-'_

'_For the future, I know. And I know that your life is not wholly your own, Emrys'. _She brushed her fingertips down his cheek and along his jaw. He sensed that she understood him, that she knew his life was wrapped up with Arthur's, that he didn't consider himself to be free. Not really. Not when there was a threat to Arthur. _'And I will wait for you, and for the time that is right for us'._

"And until then?" Merlin asked.

"Until then, I will stay here by your side," she said. Her mouth split into a wide yawn, and she laughed when it finally passed. "Or at least until one of us falls asleep".

He smiled and closed his eyes. It was a struggle not to fall asleep, but he managed it. He looked up at her, and she looked back at him. They didn't need to speak, just enjoyed the moments they had. Together.


	17. Chapter 17

They had told Arthur he shouldn't bet out of bed until morning. While the sun had yet to rise, the birds were singing again, so he supposed it was close enough. He had crept out of bed so he wouldn't disturb Guinevere's rest. She had more than earned it, spending a night and a day organizing relief efforts and helping to find food and shelter for those left homeless by the fire, all while Arthur had slept. Granted he had been injured, but he still felt like a sluggard for not pulling his weight in the fire's aftermath.

His footsteps were soft in the vast hallway. He hadn't bothered to don shoes. With his arm in a sling, struggling into a tunic and trousers had been aggravating enough. He had felt like a complete idiot trying to cinch his belt. There was no need for him to feel even worse for not being able to do something as simple as putting his shoes on.

Outside, rain was falling again. The clouds hung low over the city, and it was hard to say where they stopped and the rain began. Arthur could see the damage well enough, though. The charred and blackened buildings stuck out like rotting teeth, jagged and ugly against the pale stone walls and towers. The scars would linger for years until time and human resilience smoothed them away.

The damage was bad, but it would have been worse if not for Merlin summoning the rain that ended the fire and saved them all. Once again, Arthur thanked God for the sorcerer's presence, then wondered if Merlin would find that sentiment ironic. He probably would.

Arthur made his way toward Gaius's chambers. He didn't bother to knock. Everyone was likely asleep at this hour, and he did not want to disturb them. He just wanted to see for himself that they were recovering like he had been told they were.

The fire had gone out in the hearth. The only light came in from the window, gray and diffuse, but enough to see by. Percival was asleep on the bed nearest the hearth, with his feet overhanging the edge and one arm dragging against the ground. He was soundly asleep in spite of it, though. His snores barely drowned out Gaius's.

Someone else, small and silent, slept on the bench under the window. Her dark hair flowed out from the nest of blankets, and Arthur could see her eyes above the fabric. She was as deeply asleep as the others, so he passed her by as well, padding toward Merlin's room where a faint light shone from under the door.

He pushed it open slowly so it wouldn't rattle or creak and wake anyone. The light proved to be a candle on the nightstand, giving Lancelot just enough illumination to read by while he watched over a sleeping Merlin.

"Interesting story?" Arthur whispered.

Lancelot jumped, one hand clutching at the book, and the other reaching for a weapon that was not there. A beat passed before he recognized Arthur, then he sank back into the chair and chuckled. "It's all about herbalism, and I have no idea what any of it means". He set the book aside and moved to vacate the chair, but Arthur waved him off before he could.

"Stay there. I've been lying about for a day or more. Doesn't bother me to stand for a while," he said, though he crossed the few paces to the table under the window and leaned against it. His shoulder was starting to ache. "How are you?"

Lancelot shrugged, reaching up to brush at the bruises that darkened the side of his face. His right eye was a little swollen. "I hurt, but I'll live, thanks to Gwaine. A building would have fallen on me if he hadn't pushed me out of the way. It landed on him instead. Luckily, he has a much harder head than I do".

Arthur smirked. "I'd heard he was awake and talking some gibberish".

"That's what I'd heard," Lancelot said. "Lady Linnet hasn't left his side".

"I'd heard the same," Arthur said. "It's about damned time. They've been mooning over each other for ages. I suppose we'll be preparing for another wedding soon".

"It wouldn't surprise me".

They fell silent for a while. Arthur's gaze landed on Merlin, still sleeping. He was going to be all right, Arthur knew. He just needed rest. A lot of that, perhaps, but he would be fine. And yet it was still hard to shake the feeling that something terrible might happen, that he would suddenly take a turn for the worse. Arthur had to focus on the quiet, steady breathing, on the fact that Merlin's face wasn't lined with pain, and he wasn't covered in bandages. This was not last winter.

And yet…

'_You worry like an old woman, Mother Hen,_' he chided himself.

"We've been here too often, haven't we?" Lancelot said softly. Arthur jumped, startled, and looked up at him. "We watched over him like this, all through last winter and into the spring. Until we were sure he wasn't going to die from an infection or outright despair. Those were some of the longest nights of my life".

Arthur nodded. He felt the same way. How many nights sleepless nights had passed with him sitting in a bedside chair, listening to Merlin's labored breathing and trying not to let the sorcerer's quiet weeping tear him apart even more? It had been bad enough that Merlin had been captured by Morgana and the Sarrum- they were mortal enemies that Arthur could fight. He never had figured out how to defeat the demons that haunted Merlin's dreams.

"Think he'll ever learn to give a thought for his own well-being?" Lancelot asked.

"Probably not," Arthur said. "There are some things he learns too well, and other things he can't be bothered with. His own welfare is one of the latter".

"Maybe Niniane will help with that". Lancelot glanced toward the door and smiled. "She was asleep in the chair when I came in. I thought about leaving her where she was, but I figured she didn't deserve the crick in her neck so I carried her out there. She didn't even stir. Poor thing was exhausted".

"Guinevere told me she spent the entire night and day working alongside Gaius and Blaise, and then she found out there are people who think she set the fire," Arthur said.

Lancelot scowled. "If it's not one magic user they blame, it's another, isn't it? I can't say I'm surprised, though. Both Merlin and Niniane conspire to do nothing but good, and they're condemned anyway. It's no wonder they've formed such a bond so quickly".

"If we're not careful, we may end up preparing for two weddings," Arthur said. "Can't say I'd mind".

"Nor would I," said Lancelot.

Merlin stirred and drew in a long breath, but did not wake. He let out the sort of sigh peculiar to children, puppies, and the rare man who has managed to find true rest, undisturbed by the concerns of the waking world. Merlin had certainly earned it.

Outside, the horizon was brightening. There would be no sunny skies. It was too cloudy for that, but the day was dawning anyway. The light in the room took on a warmer cast. In the next room, at least one of the sleepers was awake and preparing for the day.

Arthur rubbed his neck and shoulder. The pain wasn't so bad now, having turned from a sharp spike to a dull throb. But it would worsen as the day went on. "I should go. Leon has probably been up for hours already, trying to figure out how this all happened".

"Are there any answers yet?" Lancelot asked.

"Beyond the rumors? No, not really. Leon thinks he's sorted out where it started, but whether it was an accident or not, we may never know," Arthur said. "But we have to try".

"Why would someone start a fire like that? What purpose could it serve?"

"Besides being destructive and hateful? I don't know. Perhaps we'll get the answers if we find the one who did it," Arthur said. "_If _someone did it". He stared at the wall for a moment, laying out his plans for the day. "Keep an eye on them until midday," he said suddenly. "Then come and find me. I want to know how they- Percival and Merlin- are doing, and then I will need your help in this investigation. The people like you. They'll talk to you, where Leon or I might intimidate them".

"Of course," Lancelot said. He hooked a heel over the rung of his chair and settled back. He knew that the order to stay here was meant to give him some time to rest. He wasn't so good at hiding his hurts that Arthur couldn't see the tightness around his eyes.

"And, uh, one more thing," Arthur said before he made it to the door. He nodded toward the bench where Niniane still slept. "If she comes back in here, keep Merlin out of trouble, will you? I'm not entirely sure he'd know what to do with a woman," he said with a wink.

Lancelot smirked. "I'll do my best".

"Good man," Arthur replied. He headed out the door then, dodging Gaius's sleepy questions and ignoring the servants' curious glances, making it nearly to the front doors before he realized he still wasn't wearing any shoes. He sighed and turned back. He would have to beg for Guinevere's help in getting fully dressed.

Then he would find out why someone wanted to burn his city down.


	18. Chapter 18- Epilogue

Despite the heightened security at the gates of Camelot, it was easy for Jehan to find a way out. He might have been a witchfinder in days past, but the profession did not leave a mark on one's person. His face was neither handsome nor ugly, neither overly scarred nor too clean, nor anything else that might keep his visage in a man's memory. In his old, worn-out clothes, he looked like just another farmer who had come in to sell his goods at the market.

'_Where is your wagon?_' one guard had asked. _'Where is your horse?'_

'_Burned up in the fire,'_ he had answered._ 'And God only knows where my horse ran off to. Probably dead and burnt, too. I'll have hell to pay when the wife finds out'._

One guard had smirked, the other nodded in sympathy. Then they let him pass. His hidden weapons went undetected, the case of potions and poisons went unremarked upon. The guards saw the down-on-his-luck farmer they were meant to see. They did not ask if he had aided the fire fighting efforts, didn't check to see if he might have any ideas how it had all started. They just let him pass.

Perception was everything.

Jehan might have allowed himself a smile as he started down the eastern road, but there were too many things on his mind to give into a moment's satisfaction. Too many plans to make, too many variables to account for.

The fire, happening a mere three weeks before Arthur's meeting with King Urien, had been laughably easy to arrange. The cramped confines of the lower town had been closer to a pile of kindling than a proper part of a city. A lantern, an extra bit of oil, some straw.

It had been too easy.

The rest of it would be far more difficult, though there were signs that might be changing.

Pynell might not have the ruthlessness that had defined Jehan's former master, the Sarrum, but Pynell's regard for Camelot's young king was waning. With every new, softhearted proclamation from the throne and the arrival of yet another magic user, Pynell's patience grew thinner. Soon it would snap, and Jehan's preparations would fall into place.

Bring the eastern Marcher lords into line. Deal with the serving girl queen. Eliminate the sorcerer. And then…

Perhaps Pynell was not the best candidate the Five Kingdoms had to offer, but weaker men had worn greater crowns than Camelot's.

Jehan drew in a deep breath. He had gotten far enough from the city that the stink of smoke no longer clung to everything, though the rain kicked up the scent of mud and moldering things. The leaves were starting to turn, staining the forest with crimson that dripped like blood in the mist. It was an appropriate scene, Jehan decided.

He pulled his thoughts back to the present. The village where his horse was stabled was still a league away over muddy roads. After that, it was a long ride to Rheged and his own meeting with Urien. There might be great things waiting for them in the future, but first things first.

He had a betrayal to arrange.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, or commented on this story. I truly appreciate it! And thank you for following this entire series, too! Your demands for new chapters keep inspiring me to write, especially during those times where I feel like I'm not writing well, or when RL gets crazy.  
_

_There may be a bit of a delay in the appearance of the next story. I have another writing project that I want to finish up in the next couple of weeks, but once I get done with that, I'll be back to Penumbra, so keep an eye out for the next story, 'The Rightwise King of Camelot'._


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